


dream on, baby (don't call me baby)

by onesaltydemon



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Demon!Shane, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Paranormal, Past Character Death, baby's first bfu fic, but nothing that's not in the show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-05-08 04:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14686179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onesaltydemon/pseuds/onesaltydemon
Summary: Sometimes he wonders what Shane would say if he asked him about his dreams, but Ryan couldn’t see the point in inviting more disappointment in. Of course Shane has dreams. He’s normal. Unlike Ryan.//Shane is anything but normal. If Shane had to describe himself in three words he would most likely choose the following: really fucking chill. Okay, so maybe there's a ton of other words that would describe him, but he knows that “normal” is not one of them.soulmate au, demon!shane au





	1. ūnus

**Author's Note:**

> howdy y'all! welcome to my first bfu fic~ hopefully i can actually.... do..... something..... with this mess in my head! anyways, you can talk to me on [tumblr](http://onesaltydemon.tumblr.com) or leave me comments here! i should have the next part up shortly!  
> also unbeta'd atm so sorry in advance for mistakes!

To Ryan's knowledge, he's never dreamt of anything.

Sure, he has dreams for how he'd like his life to turn out. He's been following the same life goals he's had since he stumbled across YouTube when it was first created.

But when he closes his eyes and lets his consciousness slip, there are no moving images behind his eyelids, no vibrant stories unfolding in his sleeping mind.

His parents were luckier than most— their dreams had led them to each other shortly after high school, earlier than most of their peers. As a child, he loved listening to them recall their earliest dreams, beautifully woven stories that had been polished by years of retelling.

But Ryan never once had a dream of his own.

As soon as they were old enough to understand the implications of their dreams, Ryan’s brother excitedly recounted all of his, the dreams he has had about the stunning person he’s destined to find. Ryan squirmed the second his brother turned to face him, eyes expectant. So Ryan did the stupidest thing he could.

He lied.

He started off with easy lies, things that were vague and abstract. Descriptions of undefined buildings, nothing too specific that would give away his dreamless truth.

But as everyone his age grows, so do their dreams, and Ryan feels himself struggling to keep up. They’re getting glimpses of names, locations, things that can't just be bluffed.

So Ryan stops telling the stories, just smiles and listens when others tell theirs. He deflects to the best of his ability, smirking and laughing through various iterations of “ _wouldn't you like to know_?”

But deep down, he’s absolutely terrified. He googles “no soulmate dreams?” and “no dreams am I broken??” and “how do I make myself dream?” He scrolls through page after page of shitty, misinformed thinkpieces about soulmates. But nothing is definitive.

So he puts his head down and works towards the concrete things he wants in life. He goes to school, learns about film, and thinks about anything that isn't related to possibly not ever meeting the love of his life.

 

The day he received an offer from BuzzFeed might've been his best day yet. He had been so excited that he kept his brother on the phone for over an hour, ranting about the endless ideas he had for content.

He immediately sets to work at his new job, meeting everyone he can and volunteering for anything he thinks he'd enjoy.

Eventually, he gets permission to start Unsolved -- his own YouTube series!!! He can hardly believe it -- and spends more time putting together cases than he's spent on anything else.

Brent was nice, but they don't have the best chemistry on camera, which leaves Ryan scrambling to find someone to be his co-host.

 

Enter one Shane Madej.

Ryan honestly doesn't have any words to describe Shane. Obviously there's the observable: a sharp face made soft with curiosity, a pair of seemingly endless legs, and a sense of humor so dry, Ryan could swear his lips were getting chapped.

But he is so much more than the spindly motherfucker who's agreed to sit next to him while exploring heinous crimes and possibly haunted locales. They click in a way that Ryan has never had with anyone else. He’s not exactly sure at what point his daily mission in life became trying to make Shane’s eyes crinkle with joy more than the previous day, but Ryan has been on a winning streak as of late and feels like he could topple the world.

They fall into an easy rhythm. Ryan researches a perplexing case, they set up the camera, and they record. At the beginning, Ryan was a little nervous to be in front of the camera with a person he hadn't had a lot of time to get to know, but after the first few episodes, all that recording means is reading his script and thinking of witty retorts to Shane’s ridiculous jabs. They finish wrapping up, edit some footage, and go to their respective homes to rest up for the next day.

Well, to _try_ to rest. Ryan still sleeps, but the fact that he still doesn't dream will always a hard pill to swallow. Some nights he purposefully stays up later than he really should just to stave off the disappointment.

 

Sometimes he wonders what Shane would say if he asked him about _his_ dreams, but Ryan can’t see the point in inviting more disappointment in. Of course Shane has dreams. He’s normal. Unlike Ryan.

 

* * *

  


Shane is anything but normal.

If Shane had to describe himself in three words he would most likely choose the following: really fucking chill.

Okay, so maybe there's a ton of other words that would describe him, but he knows that “normal” is not one of them. Maybe Shane had been normal once, back when he walked the Earth unaware of what existed after life. Maybe Shane would be normal if he hadn't taken the deal. Maybe Shane would be normal if he stopped pretending like was something he wasn't. Maybe Shane would be normal if he…

Shane shakes his head. This kind of thinking never got anyone anywhere.

Waving a hand over his face to remove his glamour, he studies his black eyes in the mirror. He can’t lie, they’re pretty fucking awesome looking, even if the lighting in the bathroom of this Starbucks is suboptimal. He touches his lips and lets the jagged teeth slink out. Those are also cool, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't accidentally nicked his bottom lip with his canines on more than one occasion. Luckily he has enough mana to fix something like that before humans notice.

He runs his hand through his shaggy hair, careful to avoid the horns just as someone knocks on the door.

“Just a second!” he calls out before snapping his fingers to open the door and disappearing.

 

* * *

 

It isn't that Hell itself is bad. On this side of the divide, it's actually pretty nice— snow-covered fields and tumbling rivers. In fact, it almost reminds Shane of his childhood, before the deal, before…

That's not the point. The point is that what makes Hell, well, Hell is the company.

“Ah, ‘Human Shane Madej!” a voice behind him snarks.

Shane snaps around, relaxing when he recognizes those shitty corkscrew horns. “Fuck off, Baltaar. What do you want?”

“Just seeing how many favorite flesh bag sympathizer is doing.” Baltaar’s lips curl upwards around his blackened teeth. He falls into a singsonging lilt as he teases, “How was your day at work, sweetheart?”

Shane chuckles and shrugs. “Same old same old. The human’s been wanting to stay overnight in a ‘demon house.’ Tried to talk him out of it, but apparently he is really insistent that he's gonna somehow find solid spiritual evidence this time. Humans, am I right?”

Baltaar smiles wider, which after spending most of his time Earth-side, Shane has to agree looks pretty fucking creepy. “So which of our brethren will you be having a sleepover with then, Shaney?”

Shane pulls out his cellphone and scrolls through the notes which causes the older demon to wince. Without looking up, Shane mutters, “Fucking overpowered entities are worse than baby boomers.”

“What was that?”

“I said, it looks like the human is dragging me to Sallie’s. Damn, I haven't been there in ages. Reckon she'll recognize me?”

Baltaar grimaces. “Last time she saw you was when we ran into her in France before the Deutsche stormed in. She wasn't too happy to see you among the resistance, Shanezche.”

Shane bristles and not just from hearing his original name. “Among the resistance? For fuck’s sake, Baltaar. We’re demons. We don't take sides in human matters. You know as well as I do that I was just there to even the odds.”

Scratching his _ridiculous_ horn, Baltaar hums and adds, “Plus, the Allies’ uniforms made your ass look _incredible_.”

“You're fucking right they did!” He punches the other demon’s shoulder. “I've gotta get topside to scope out the location before we head that way.”

“Keeping your pet safe?”

And fuck, Shane wants so badly to wipe that shit-eating grin off his friend’s face, but he settles on flipping him the bird and dissipating into the aether.

 

* * *

 

 

Before Shane kicks down the door at the Sallie House, he checks in on Ryan. He knows that it’s downright intrusive, but he had seen how stressed out the human had been before leaving work. Not that that’s an excuse to be creepy. It’s fucked up, even for a creature that crawled out of the depths of Hell.

Whatever. It’s just a peek through the window. That’s all. _I am a very capable and high-ranking creature of Hell._

Ryan’s just laying in the middle of his bed, staring at the ceiling and talking to himself. He looks worried, but Shane’s not going to bother over late-night rambling.

He snaps his fingers and finds himself of an old two-story house. He can feel another presence near him, a smoldering coming from under his feet. He straightens out his button-up and walks up the sidewalk.

“Sallie?” he asks, knuckles rebounding from the oaken door. The metallic scraping of the tumbler of the lock turning causes him to lower his fist. He opens the door, enters, and then locks it behind him. When he turns around, there’s a small girl with pigtails sitting on an armchair that’s seen better days. “Oh, for crying outl-”

“Hello Shanezche,” the little girl interrupts. “How’s my favorite brother and most beloved _traitor_?” Shane decides the next time he sees the Demonic Council, he’s putting a Hell-wide embargo on creepy little girls with creepy little smiles.

“It’s good to see you again too. Well, your weird child puppet body.”

“You’re the one walking around with flesh and bone, you mortal-humping maggot.” Okay, yeah, Sallie’s been around for millennia, but Shane can’t help feeling like a child shouldn’t be using that kind of language. He scowls.

“Anyways, my friend and I are coming by to film some stupid video for the internet. I’m sure you’ve seen lots of idiots like that around here.” She pulls out a nail file and nods. “Right, right. Well, my friend is hellbent on trying to capture evidence or whatever. I’m looking to barter for his safety. What’ll it take?”

Sallie lowers her file and laughs. “You’re bargaining for a _human_ ?” She practically spits out the last word like it’s burning her mouth. “Why, dear Shanezche. You really have lost your touch haven’t you? I seem to remember a young little sprout not too long ago who was ready to do _anything_ to --”

“I said, what will it take?”

“Fine, fine! A little testy tonight, aren’t we?” Sallie waves her nail file down the length of her, albeit short, body. Shane watched as the pristine, pale skin disintegrated, leaving the rotting husk that was Sallie’s corporeal form. “Not eating your friend for one night?”

“And our camera crew,” he adds, remembering that TJ and a few of the other crew had been roped into their adventure as well.

“A camera crew? You’re killing me, Shanezche.”

“It’s just Shane now. Shane Madej. And I do recall that I technically have superiority over you. Now, you know I really don’t want to resort to bureaucratic bullshit though, and I’d be willing to wager 25 innocent souls that you don’t either.”

“Well, _Shane_.” She rolls her eyes. “Doesn’t mentioning your rank pretty much do the same thing?” Sighing, she points her nail file at him. “You drive a hard bargain, but alright. Since you mentioned souls… two souls upfront, two souls afterwards.”

“You’re fucking kidding me. No way! I’d rather just banish you back under.”

Sallie clicks her tongue. “Now, now, Mr. Madej. Let’s not get hasty. No souls upfront, one soul after, and we’ll call the incident from 1778 even.” With a quick movement of her hands, she slices open her palm and offers it out for a handshake. “Got it?”

Shane shakes his head but digs one of his canines across his palm. The murky brown essence starts to creep out as he brings his hand to meet hers. _What the fuck am I doing?_

“Deal.”

 

* * *

 

 

Checking out the other two locations they’d be visiting isn’t nearly as bad as making a deal with an acquaintance. Shane waves his glamour back into place and pulls the hood up on his sweatshirt.

Doll Island is creepy as fuck, but luckily there doesn’t seem to be any lingering spirits out for revenge. _Just spiders. Bergara’s gonna have fun with this one._

Snapping his fingers again, Shane finds himself standing on a dining room table, his head smashed against the chandelier. _Oh for fuck’s sake_. He steps down and closes his eyes, trying to sense anything in the sprawling mansion. A few spirits shuffle into the dining room he’s in, but they’re more curious than vengeful.

He tilts his head to regard the closest shimmering form. “Hey there. The name’s Shane Madej. Anything I can help you with?”

The ghost just looks at him with sorrowful eyes and drifts back through the ceiling, the others following suit soon after.

Shrugging, Shane winds his way through the confusing hallways and out the front door, already dreading today.  



	2. duo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3 horrifying cases of ghosts and demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! me again! thank you so much for the kudos and comments! it's definitely helped motivate me to keep going!
> 
> it's almost 4 am so I'll be editing it when I'm more awake probably! thank you for your patience!
> 
> come yell with me on [tumblo](http://onesaltydemon.tumblr.com)! I am very nice!

Shane’s just going to skip past the Winchester house. The fact that it was clearly marketed as a tourist attraction doesn't warrant any further discussion. Ryan got scared, Shane laughed, they both swore at each other. It's almost like you were there, right?

As is expected, Doll Island is in fact creepy as fuck. Couldn't people hoard less unsettling things than decrepit dolls? The monkey with the sunglasses is cool, but everything else? No thanks. Also the bit where they went to see Father Thomas? Super not a fan of that one. But other than the intense heartburn and the splitting headache, he managed to escape unscathed. 

The fear emanating off of Ryan, while nutritious, is more bitter than anything Shane has ever tasted. Maybe it’s because the human is just so genuinely content with his life and the juxtaposition is what's making the emotion sit on Shane’s tongue like moldy drywall. Or that it’s the product of a situation that someone is voluntarily plunging themself into. Those are his working theories at least. Nothing else could possibly explain it.

* * *

 

They're on the plane back from Mexico, Ryan slumped against Shane’s shoulder. The demon is doing his best to sit like a perfectly normal human. He hasn't had much experience in airplanes until now, never needed to. With a snap of his fingers, he could be anywhere in the galaxy and beyond. But he hadn't thought of a way to duck out without raising any suspicion, and the crew  _ had _ already bought him a ticket, so, y’know. 

Regardless, Shane is very carefully trying not to feel too rigid, too… inhuman while trying to keep his senses spread out across the plane. Not that he expects to be ambushed by someone -- or something -- but getting attacked surrounded by humans while tens of thousands of feet in the air isn't the  _ best _ situation. So sue him for a little self-preservation. It has nothing to do with the personification of sunshine who is drooling on his shoulder -- gross but also kind of cute if he's being honest -- and softly snoring. 

Come to think of it, Shane hadn't gotten a chance to pop back into Hell to get a bit of a recharge, and he  _ was _ feeling a little groggy from being hypervigilant. 

Eyes drooping, a solid body beside him, he falls asleep for the first time in over 40 years.

* * *

 

_ The BuzzFeed office isn't that far from Ryan’s apartment. Sure, LA traffic sucks, and there’s always a frustrating amount of traffic, but Ryan wouldn't change it for the world.  _

_ He’s on his first official day of training, learning the ins and outs of corporate social media, when a group of employees walks by the conference room his intern group is in. They poke their heads in and introduce each themselves, but Ryan has been hearing a deluge of names since he first showed up, so they're pretty quickly forgotten.  _

_ He’s standing at the coffee maker when he hears someone knock against the wall behind him. He whips around to see who’s approaching, but the fire beneath his feet -- fire? why was there a fire? I don't remember a fire? -- grows too hot. The world crumbles away, and he never gets to see their face. _

* * *

 

Shane regains consciousness when Ryan bolts upright in his seat, chest heaving. 

“Hey little guy,” he murmurs in the most soothing tone he can. Fuck, his mouth is so dry. “What, did you forget to turn off the coffee pot before you left?”

The human stares at him with saucer-plate eyes. “The coffee p- What? How d-?” His fists scrub at his eyes briefly. “No, just bad dreams is all.”

_ Now that's strange _ . “Soulmate stand you up on your first date?”

Ryan snorts indignantly and opens his mouth to reply but seems to think better of it. “No. I think seeing all those fucking spiders is starting to get to me. Keep thinking about their freaky legs crawling up me or whatever.” 

Sensing how desperate Ryan is to change the subject, the demon -- for once in his miserable afterlife -- complies. “I know how to make a flamethrower in a pinch. Name a creepy crawly, and it'll burn it right up! That's the Madej Guarantee!”

The relief that washes over Ryan is absolutely palpable. It tastes like a lemon tart, crisp and soothing against where the overwhelming fear grated Shane’s senses. He would gladly chase away any of the overwhelmingly bitter panic every goddamned time if he could indulge in the boulangerie bullshit. 

_ Ryan is not food. He's a human,  _ he mentally scolds himself. The hellfire in his chest roils at that.  _ Okay, fine, yes. I feed on people like him. But not him. Never him. _

Wait.  _ What? _

But before he can explore that train of thought, Ryan is pulling up something on his iPhone and turning it towards Shane.

* * *

 

So obviously the paranormal investigator is full of shit. What kind of ghost and demon hunter can't sense the centuries-old abomination shaking his hand? What an asshole. 

Still, Shane is going out of his way to try to make Ryan laugh, pointing at the various plush animals sitting around the house. He really should get one of those stuffed monkeys -- if he had some place to put it. He doesn't think even Baltaar would overlook bringing a stuffed primate with him down to Hell.

When Eric (Evan? Ethan? The human convinced he can find ghosts) brings out the Mag Light, Shane digs his heels in hard. He is well-aware of the science behind this stupid trick, and while most ghost hunting shows are dubious at best, he's acutely aware of Sallie watching from just outside the kitchen. 

So Shane does what Shane does best. He tries to simultaneously make Ryan laugh while pissing off Sallie. The taste of burnt flesh and sulfur is not what he was expecting. 

He immediately rushes to Ryan’s side, making sure he's not actually dying. Ryan mostly seems to recover enough to keep going, but if the white-knuckling action happening in Human’s-Flashlight-Ville is anything to go on, he's mostly only sticking with this for “the content.”

The demon is trying to cheer him up with more aggressive threats, but when the flashlight turns off, Ryan’s all about melted off of his own skeleton. 

_ Fuck this. _

* * *

 

After some solid shenanigans in the basement and a solid pep talk/diversion, Shane is lying on Sallie’s living room floor, glaring at the decomposing demon standing in the doorway. He's pissed that she scared Ryan so badly when the paranormal investigator was here, but he's willing to concede that their deal only included their protection. You’d think that a demon with hundreds of years of deal-making experience would've taken the fine writing into deeper consideration, but he didn't, and now he's got a trembling human laying next to him, and he has to at least pretend to get some sleep so he can gloat in Ryan’s face in the morning. 

He rolls over and closes his eyes. A cabinet in the kitchen slams, and he internally sighs. Sallie was never good at sharing. 

“Shane, Shane, wake up!” comes Ryan's panicked whisper. “Dude, wake up! Did you fucking hear that? Please tell me you heard that, man.”

Shane almost gags on the emotions in his mouth. He groggily flips to face the source of the acrid taste. “Ryan, relax. It was just wind. Remember when we were walking around this afternoon how we saw that loose shutter? And I was like,  _ look at this, Ryan _ , and you were all  _ Ah! Shane! Protect me from the scary wind! _ ”

He can't say he wasn't expecting the pillow that is slammed into his stomach. 

“Shut up, asshole. You know that's not how that conversation went. It was more like  _ Hey Ryan, look! A loose shutter! If you get any evidence on camera, I’m gonna blame this! _ ”

The sweetened citrus is coming back now, and the fear has abated to a tolerable level of dark chocolate. Yeah, he should figure out another naming system for emotions, but 2 AM is not the time. Instead, he holds his up middle finger mostly for Ryan, but he hopes that Sallie understands that it’s more of a  _ reply all _ situation.

When he hears flesh gripping tight around metal again, Shane is just about ready to suplex Ryan into the dining room table. He taps Shane’s sleeping bag with the flashlight before whispering, “I’m gonna go check it out, dude.”

_ Of fucking course you are, _ is what he thinks. “Chill,” is what he actually says before he adds, “I’m gonna hit the bathroom.”

The second Ryan is out of the living room, Shane hauls ass out of sight of the camera. He doesn't slam Sallie against the wall, but it's a close thing.

“He’s not gonna live through the night if he dies of a goddamn heart attack,” he growls, sharp teeth now exposed inches from her rotting face. 

“Why, Mr. Madej, how dare you think so poorly of little ol’ me! I wouldn't hurt a fly!” She punctuates that with what he  _ thinks  _ is a wink. But really, her face is abhorrent and he does his best not to study it too closely. 

“Just, be cool for a few more hours, okay? I’ll add an extra soul in it for you. Go downstairs and leave us alone.” He tears opens another line on his palm and shoves it in her direction. “Deal?” 

She mirrors his actions before shaking his hand. “Deal. Have a good night, loverboy.” She blows him a kiss and disappears. 

He runs to the bathroom because he actually  _ does _ need to piss pretty badly, and when he returns to his sleeping bag, Ryan's scrolling through something on his phone. He looks up when he hears Shane’s footsteps. 

“Look, if you needed to call your girlfriend, you could've just said so, man.” Shane can hear how genuine his words are, but the look on his face doesn't really match them. 

Shane shakes his head. “Nah, just talking to myself. Did you see the bathroom? They've got fruit-shaped soaps in a dish! Pretty fancy for a spooky house, right?” When he pauses, he sees that the strange expression has melted into a smile. “Did you find anything in the kitchen? Maybe a lonely ghost looking for a circle jerk?”

“Fuck you, dude. No, all the cupboards were closed and the shutter was swinging around, so as much as it hurts to admit it, I think you might be right.”

Man, Shane wishes he was right. Now he's gotta give up two of his stash to Sallie and he doesn't even really get anything from it. Well, Ryan can sleep through the night, so that's something, he guesses. 

He forces a smug grin and points at the tripod. “Hear that? Science wins another round!” The sweet smell of summer rain fills his senses. 

* * *

 

At 3:06 AM, they're packing up what they can grab and shoving it haphazardly into the backseat. Shane isn't quite sure what happened that freaked Ryan out so badly, but he's not too big to admit that he's relieved to be out of Sallie’s house. 

Ryan’s so bright and airy as he flips off the house and gets into the driver’s seat, sending Shane his brightest megawatt smile. 

_ If I could bottle this up and sell it, I could make millions.  _ Shane focuses on ignoring the burning in his chest. 

* * *

 

The episode is met with such warm reception that Ryan is nearly vibrating with anticipation and new ideas for future excursions. The constant flavor of petrichor and unbridled sunshine is almost enough to make up for growing unease in Shane’s stomach.


	3. trēs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hewwo it's chyaboi miles back with another chapter of those good good words we call fiction. thank you for the words of encouragement! hopefully I can keep beating back mental illness with a stick to bring these soft boofriends to your screens.  
> [tumblo ](http://onesaltydemon.tumblr.com)

Filming the next few episodes of Unsolved helps Shane begin to unravel the bizarre knot that's taken up residence somewhere between his heart and stomach. He’s not entirely sure why he's gotten so worked up about this stupid video series Ryan’s created, but it's starting to take a toll on him.

“So then why don't you just leave?” Baltaar asks, finger tracing idle swirls in the condensation of his beer. “Go back to crossroad deals and blood oaths?”

Shane pops a peanut in his mouth and carefully chews it to buy himself time. This is one of the less frequented bars in Hell, not flashy enough for the newer fiends and too campy for the oldest ones. Baltaar’s gaze continues to burn through him. “I’unno,” he offers, but it falls flat. “I guess I just don't want to watch the idiot get ripped apart by things he can't see.”

Baltaar laughs but quickly stops when he realizes Shane isn't joking. “Shanezche…” He takes another swig of beer. There's a look on his face that Shane can't quite place. He rubs one of his horns in frustration before trying again, “Shane, are you going soft on me?”

Shane has to take a few deep breaths to make sure he doesn't shatter his own pint glass. “You know as well as I do that I could disembowel someone and choke them with their intestines faster than you can say the Lord’s Prayer backwards.”

“Would you be able to do that to the human?”

Silence falls over the two men, uncomfortable and thick. Shane can almost make out the sound of the angry flickering of hellfire in his chest. Softly, he mumbles, “I’m not weak.”

Baltaar throws a few coins on the table, pats Shane’s shoulder, and walks out into Hell.

* * *

 

Ryan notices that Shane’s been a little more off than usual. He’s a strange guy, sure, but he never seems to answer any texts outside of work and doesn't go to happy hour with the rest of the office on Fridays.

But that's totally fine! He’s totally allowed to go home, cook dinner for himself, and watch the History Channel. He's allowed to keep his weekends open for all the dates he probably has if he hasn't found his soulmate already. He’s allowed to live a normal, human life. 

So Ryan tries to, too.

He hasn't dreamt since the plane ride back to the States. He hasn't decided if that's a good or bad thing yet. Was it just a one-time fluke, the product of all the spooky things he'd seen on their trip? Or is he just so broken that in his desperation his mind was making dreams up? 

He shakes his head and stirs his coffee. Shane’s typing away on his keyboard, probably writing up a script for another short. He pauses periodically and notices Ryan zoning out. He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the most delightful way, before turning back to his computer, a light upward curve still playing on his lips. 

Ryan hasn't gotten much work done today, but it's the Friday before New Year’s Eve, and they're driving to San Diego to film on Monday. He doesn't have any plans for the weekend, but that doesn't mean it has to stay that way. 

 

Ryan’s scrolling through Twitter in the break room when he hears Shane sigh heavily and collapse into the chair across from him. The bags under his eyes are so dark that Ryan thinks it might actually be makeup. 

“Rough night?”

Shane stares blankly at his pasta salad. “You could say that.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Ryan almost regrets asking when he watches Shane shut down. The sound of metaphorical metal doors echoes against his skull. 

“I guess you could say that there's family drama. I don't know. It's bullshit.” He sets down his fork and looks up. “Basically my family is all  _ oh Shane, you've changed so much since leaving for LA! We can hardly even recognize you! _ Which, whatever. Why does that matter if I think I’m finally starting to find happiness after so many years of suffering?” 

Ryan doesn't know how to respond to the confession. And maybe it’s a combination of not knowing what to say and desperately wanting to wipe that tortured grimace off his friend’s face, but he suddenly asks, “Do you wanna grab a drink tonight? The zoo is doing a holiday in the park event, and if you're not doing anything, we could check it out?”

All of the fire seems to immediately leave Shane’s body. With a soft smile, he nods. “That would be swell, little guy.”

* * *

 

Okay, so  _ technically _ Shane should've said no to Ryan. He should've come up with some bullshit excuse about how he needed to sort through his “family drama” before they leave on Monday. But Shane is the personification of hedonism, so if he can blow off his responsibilities  _ and  _ drink a beer? Of fucking course he's going to choose that every time. 

Seeing Ryan outside of the office, outside of filming is… different. He’s infinitely softer and a million times more bro-y and not one bit frightened of the unseen world that lays just out of reach. 

The fairy lights wrapped around the trees illuminate his dazzling smile which grows wider and wider with each beer they drink. Ryan is pointing to any animal that's still out this late and recalling any and all facts he happens to know about them -- though Shane’s pretty sure most of them are bullshit. Once Ryan’s had enough to drink, Shane starts telling his own stories about the animals, hoping his intense specificity goes unnoticed. 

“Did you know that President Van Buren was given two tiger cubs? The Sultan of Oman sent them to him. Congress made him give them to the local zoo though. Yet another example of how much the House and Senate hate fun.”

Ryan laughs and watches the tiger flick its tail against the side of the rock. “Can you imagine a tiger giving the State of the Union address?  _ This nation is more than good. It’s grrreat! _ ” He dissolves into a fit of wheezing giggles. 

“Ryan, are you suggesting that all tigers are secretly cereal mascots?” Shane has to fight to keep his own laughter down. 

The other man struggles to maintain his composure. “That being s-said, let’s get into the the-theories.”

Shane checks him lightly with his shoulder and immediately grabs his arm when he's thrown off balance. Ryan’s laughter has subsided, and the lights are reflecting off his dark eyes.

Their faces are close together, and Shane is still holding onto Ryan’s bicep. The demon can taste something new, spicy like cinnamon and cloves yet sweet like honeysuckle. He's surprised that he hasn't burst into flames from the sheer wattage Ryan’s smile is giving off. 

He swears that he can see Ryan starting to lean in, to rock up on his tippy toes. If he's being honest, he's excited by the idea, and the hellfire in his chest sparks more fervently than ever. Just as he’s about to lean in and let himself taste all of Ryan’s unbridled emotions firsthand, he hears the last voice he could possibly want to hear.

“Shane!”

Ryan jumps away from him as if all the electricity between them had finally made contact. His hand rubs absentmindedly at where Shane’s grip had just been. 

Shane whirls around, black eyes and fangs revealed. 

“What a pleasure to see you here. I thought your plane got in  _ next week _ .”

Baltaar saunters up to them, swinging his arm around Shane’s neck. His glamor looks frightenly similar to Shane’s. “Saw a cheap ticket for earlier and decided to nab it. What? You don't want to see your dear brother? I'm hurt!” He ignores Shane’s attempts to punch him psychically, instead turning to Ryan and sticking out his hand. “I’m Scott, this big oaf's older brother. Pleasure to meet you.”

Ryan studies him for a moment before meeting his handshake. “Ryan Bergara. Same to you.”

Shane grinds his teeth before saying, “If you’ll excuse us for a second, Ry?”

“Yeah, I think I'll go get another drink.”

* * *

Ryan is staring at the empty monkey exhibit trying to work through what's happened tonight. If he's not mistaken, he was going to kiss his coworker after only a couple of beers. He could've sworn Shane was bending down to plant one on him, something hungry and playful in his eyes. 

_ Would we have kissed? _ He’s not sure if he would've wanted that. He's only kissed a few guys before, but most of them were jocks who wanted to keep it on the down-low. He doesn't want to be someone’s secret again. 

People mess around all the time before finding their soulmates -- sometimes afterwards too. Soulmates aren't the end all be all that story books tend to paint them as. Fate can bring two people together, but it’s not always for romantic or sexual reasons. One of the guys he roomed with in college had two soulmates who were completely platonic, and they seemed to make it work. 

_ Then why am I so disappointed his brother showed up? _ He has no answer for that. He can't imagine sleeping with Shane, or at least he doesn't think he wants to try. Unsolved is like his child, and if he and Shane were to get involved, it could potentially ruin the entire show. And then what would he have left?

_ So we just play it cool. We ignore it and go back to how it was _ . Go back to? Ryan rubs his temples. Nothing has changed so there's nothing to go back to. He nods to himself, straightens his shoulders, and heads back into the crowd to find Shane. 

* * *

_ He's in the car this time, driving along the coast towards the nature reserve. He's vaguely aware of a voice in the background, but he can't seem to turn his head to look.  _ Probably the radio then, _ he thinks, tapping his fingers idly against the steering wheel. _

_ Sweat drips from his hairline down his back. He reaches blindly for the AC button, but nothing he's pressing seems to be doing the trick. Just as his eyes start to drift down towards the center console to find the correct button, the warbled voice becomes clearer.  _

_ “Ryan! Watch out!” _

_ He glances up just in time to see a deer -- is it a deer? Was it  _ ever  _ a deer? step in front of his car.  _

_ The last thing he remembers is the fire lapping at his skin while a pair of black eyes looms over him. _

* * *

He's not exactly sure what else happened after he found Shane last night, but when he wakes up just after 7 AM on Saturday morning, he can't catch his breath and his lips are burning. His blinds are wide open and the sun is streaming in.

Once he manages to calm his racing heart, he hears someone snoring beside him. Feet dangling off the mattress, Shane fuckin' Madej is lying on his stomach sound asleep. The morning light is turning his eyelashes into beautiful, golden strands and illuminating his facial features in a way that makes him look impossibly soft. 

Ryan’s fingers are about to brush a lock of hair off Shane’s forehead when he realizes what he's doing. 

 

_ I am so incredibly fucked.  _


	4. quattuor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> sorry i'm late, y'all. had to see the doctor and whatnot, but at least i've got a referral to a neurologist! yeehaw!  
> anyways, I hope y'all enjoy this chapter.  
> as always, [come chat!](http://www.onesaltydemon.tumblr.com)
> 
> brief tw: for suicide mention but it's about one of the ghosts they talked about on the show.

Shane wakes up when he hears oil sizzling in a pan. One hand lazily rubbing his eyes, he grabs his glasses and shuffles towards the kitchen. His joints crack as he approaches, causing Ryan to look up.

“Look at that, Sleeping Beauty has finally arisen,” he jokes, waving the spatula emphatically.

Shane can't muster more than a huff of humor before getting straight to the point. “Coffee.”

The answering laugh rings through the kitchen, so bright and wonderful, and he can't help but feel like he's entirely out of place here. He’s handed a mug already fixed to his liking. It’s all so impossibly domestic. The warmth spreads down his throat, stoking the hellfire flickering within.

He very pointedly does not think about why he feels so foreign here.

“So, big guy. You gotta fill me in here. I don't remember much of what happened after your brother showed up.”

That makes Shane smirk, and he pauses from his drink to look at his friend. “You, Mr. Bergera, got Madejed.”

Ryan just stares at him for a few seconds. “I-- What?”

He strides over to the stovetop to bump his hip against Ryan’s. “Seems you couldn't keep up with me and Scott. Even the best fall down sometimes and all that.”

“Okay, so, LifeHouse lyrics aside, we just drank and then crashed here?" He lets out a sigh of relief. "Where’d Scott go?”

Shane can feel the flames starting to climb his neck. He hadn't felt this flustered in _centuries_. Demons don't usually deal with such… human emotions.

“You didn’t want to be alone, so I gave Scott my keys. You looked pretty bad, so I sat next to you to make sure you didn't choke on your vomit. Must’ve dozed off shortly after.”

And wow, would you look at how interesting the milk swirling in his coffee looks. It's definitely totally enthralling, and there's certainly no other reason he wouldn't be making eye contact with Ryan right now. Until he starts to smell whatever’s in the pan cook a little too long. “Ryan, it's burning.”

Ryan had been studying his spatula but immediately jumps into action at Shane’s voice. “Fuck, right.” He scoops the bacon onto a towel and pulls some pancakes out of the oven where he'd presumably been warming them. “I hope it all turned out alright. Think of it as payment for taking care of my inebriated ass last night.”

Shane can’t stop the smile that blooms across his face even if he wanted to.

 

* * *

 

Ryan zoned out around episode six of their binge-session. The tapping against his head finally shakes out of his reverie. “You okay in there?”

Smiling, he nods. “Yeah, just lost in thought. Hey, are you going to the party tonight?”

“Ehh,” Shane makes wiggling motion with his hand.

“It’d be nice to see you there.” Shane raises an eyebrow. “I just mean that you never go to the company parties. Coworker bonding and all that.” Ryan cannot backpedal any faster. It would be really awesome if a spontaneous sinkhole opened up and swallowed the entire block.

The other man stands up, stretching his ridiculously long limbs. “Don’t think too hard there, little guy. I’ll consider your offer.” He finishes stretch and rubs the back of his neck. “I should go check up on my brother. Make sure he hasn’t burnt the place to the ground. I’ll see you later?”

Ryan nods and opens his mouth to speak, but Shane is out the door before he can form a coherent thought.

 

* * *

 

Shane eventually finds Baltaar feeding some of his favorite hellhounds. He bends down to wipe some of the black ichor away from one of the hound’s -- Umbra, if he remembers correctly -- eyes and then moves to scratch behind her ear.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” he says, not looking up from the eldritch horror panting up at him.

Baltaar pauses from pulling unidentifiable bits of meat out of a bucket and wipes the gristle off on his apron. “I could say the same to you. This goes far beyond fraternizing with the enemies, Shanezche. The council’s not going to like this one bit.”

“Oh, shove the council up your ass, dude. Besides, humans aren’t the enemies.” Umbra whines, so he switches to her other ear. “Also, you should get your twelve-thousand-year-old eyes checked because whatever you think was happening last night clearly wasn’t happening.”

Baltaar erupts into laughter. Wiping a tear from his eye, he manages, “Delivering that message while petting a dog isn’t exactly striking fear into my heart.” Shane glares at him. “Fine, humans aren’t the enemy, but these twelve-thousand-year-old-eyes know a kiss when they see one. You were totally about to show him the Madej charm!”

Shane’s fingers tighten around the inky darkness between them, but he lets go when Umbra whimpers. Sighing, he sits down against the blistering stone. Umbra lays down next to him, head resting on his thigh. He doesn’t usually like this side of Hell, but he does miss seeing the hellhounds from time to time. He continues to rub his fingers along the jagged crest that runs down her back.

“The human asked me to celebrate one of their holidays with him.”

Baltaar goes back to distributing the meat to the remaining dogs. “And you’re telling me this, why?”

He notices the concerned look his friend is giving him, but it’s easier not to mention it. “I don’t know. Just thought you’d like to know since you’re about the closest thing I have to a friend right now or whatever. Y’know what? Forget it.” He’s just about to snap his fingers and go some place far far away when he feels Baltaar's hand wrap around his wrist.

“Shane.”

He looks up at churning dark eyes and knows what he’s being asked, can hear the implicit _why?_  “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’ve been dead for who fucking knows how many years. I haven’t given one complete shit over a human for about as long as I can remember. I don’t know what makes him different. I’m bad at this.” He pauses and pushes himself up from the ground. _Take a deep breath. Lick your lips. Hands in your pockets._ “I just… I wanna be swept up in this. I really wanna believe in _something_ again.”

His friend nods then looks up at the red-tinted sky. “It’s almost time for that human holiday, isn’t it?”

 

* * *

 

Ryan’s enjoying the buzz, the music, the company. A lot of his friends are here, but it’s really hard to move through the crowd. Just before the countdown, he manages to sneak onto the balcony with a cold bottle of beer. Couples are chattering excitedly, cellphones ready to take selfies of themselves kissing under the fireworks. As he looks out over the party-goers milling about downstairs, his gaze nearly skates right over the all too familiar figure leaning against a lamp post.

Shane waves when they make eye contact, but he doesn’t make any move to join Ryan up on the balcony.

 

When the clock strikes midnight, Ryan kisses his beer instead of anyone at the party, and he does not once think of Shane.

Okay, so maybe only one of those things is true.

Ryan takes a long pull from his bottle and ignores the condensation that lingers on his lips.

 

* * *

 

Monday morning comes much too quickly for Shane. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the differences in the flow of time between Hell and the topside; honestly, he’s eternally grateful his phone syncs via satellites.

Still, Ryan pulls up to the BuzzFeed office ten minutes earlier than he said he would, which means that Shane has ten less minutes to remember how to behave like a sane human being again.

The drive itself is rather enjoyable. Most of the two hours is spent in companionable silence, only interrupted by instructions from the GPS. Once they start getting closer to their destination, Shane realizes he didn’t scope this place out before they visited.

“So, what kind of spookiness have you got in store for us today?”

Ryan jumps slightly in his seat, clearly not expecting Shane to start speaking yet. “Hang on. Get the GoPro set up in the back. I’ll give you a rundown while recording so your reactions are genuine.”

He manages to turn around in his seat enough to get the tripod secured. Once it’s recording, he situates himself so he can see both the camera and Ryan. “So Ryan, how are you gonna convince us that ghosts are real today?”

Ryan wheezes and seems to let out some of the tension from his shoulders. “Today we’re going to America’s Most Haunted: The Whaley House.”

“Ooooh! Bringing out the best of the best for me? You shouldn’t have!”

He wheezes again and softly punches Shane in the shoulder. “Asshole. Just wait until we get in there. You never know what’s hiding around the corner!”

“Knowing these places, probably a lot of shadows and dust bunnies. Maybe a squatter or two.”

“Shut up, Shane.”

 

The house isn’t too imposing. It mostly just looks like any old house. Ryan’s reading off all of the deaths that have occurred in this house while Shane does his best to not pay attention to the woman standing in the corner. If she could stop wailing any time now, that would be superb.

Okay, yeah, having an enormous bullet wound in your chest probably isn’t the most comfortable way to spend eternity, but it’s her own damn fault it’s there in the first place. Or maybe he should be a little bit more compassionate, but fuck, her lungs sure as hell weren’t affected by the bloody mess.

“The girl who killed herself. Violet, right?”

Ryan scans back over his notes. “Yeah, Violet. What about her?”

“What kind of gun did she use?”

He recoils at that. “Kind of a morbid question, isn’t it?” Shane just shrugs in reply. “All my online sources said it was her dad’s pistol. Why?”

Shane tries not to picture her holding a gun, tries not to imagine the humiliation she must’ve faced to make that grave of a decision. “I always thought it would be hard to shoot yourself with a shotgun. Gotta have long arms.”

Ryan chuckles. “Guess you’ve got that one covered, huh, big guy? Come on, let’s check out the house.”

 

Once they’re strapped in to all of their equipment, Shane finds it easier to ignore the spirits following them. They enter an old bedroom, and Ryan stops.

“What do you feel in here?” Shane asks when it’s clear Ryan’s waiting for something.

“I feel like I’m being watched, but I don’t… mind it? It’s hard to explain.”

Shane looks at the ghost he presumes to be Anna rocking a wailing baby. Anna’s definitely watching them, but her eyes aren’t as pained as Violet’s had been. She’s simply curious about the new visitors.

As they talk to the darkness around them, Shane sticks to focusing on Ryan’s face. It’s easier to watch him, here, where everything is quantifiable and justifiable. Everything has a rhyme and a reason. If a door slams, it’s just the wind. If there are footsteps above them, it’s just the house settling. He doesn’t have to worry about the flame in his chest that blazes a thousand degrees hotter whenever Ryan’s arm bumps against him, doesn't have to think about when the way he started viewing Ryan changed from  _the_ human to  _my_ human, doesn’t have to think of the possibility of Ryan finding out Shane’s the thing he fears the most.

They continue their tour through the house, pausing to sit down in a big room filled with chairs. Shane’s getting tired of listening to Violet scream.

“Hey ghosts? My friend Ryan here would like to feel a shiver up his spine.”

Ryan shoots him a glare, but the chair next to him creaks, and his eyes snap open wider than ever. When Shane looks over, Thomas is sitting beside him, exhaling spectral tobacco smoke into his friend’s face.

“What, uh. What’re you feeling, buddy?”

He shifts uncomfortably against the oak, hand going to his temple. “I don’t like this.” He stops and takes in a few deep breaths. “I feel incredibly dizzy. I had like, this shiver up my spine. Man, I’m very uncomfortable right now.”

Shane doesn’t respond.

“Dude, I know you don’t believe me. I can see the look on your face right now.”

He tries to laugh, but Thomas is still staring at Ryan, and it’s making him feel uncomfortable too.

 

Honestly, suggesting that they talk to the ghosts separately was purely for selfish reasons. These ghosts have been getting increasingly more handsy as the night goes on, and Shane just wants an opportunity to tell them all to get the fuck away from his human.

He knows that his eyes aren’t visible to the night vision camera, so the second he’s alone, he dispels that part of his glamor.

“For starters, I don’t believe in ghosts,” he says while staring Thomas straight in the eyes. “But my friend Ryan is quite afraid of you, so I'm afraid we have beef.”

“But you can see us,” calls a feminine voice from behind Thomas. Judging by the green gingham dress, Shane assumes it’s Anna again, sans baby.

“All I’m asking is for you to leave my friend alone.” He sighs and presses pause on his camera. With a lowered voice, he adds, “Okay, yes. I can see you. Leave him alone, and I won’t carry you off to Hell. Now I’ve gotta record myself yelling obscenities at you. Please understand that it’s just for the theatrics, and I don’t mean any of it. Except for the leaving Ryan alone part. I _very much_ mean that.”

Before either of the spirits can reply, he clicks his camera back on and lets it all out.

When he leaves the room, he flips off Thomas, and tells Ryan he tried to talk to the ghosts about bats.

 

* * *

 

Ryan doesn’t ask Shane about the 25 seconds of missing footage. He tries not to think about the whisper he felt against his ear. He _definitely_ doesn’t spend any time wondering why the thought of Shane being the one who whispered in his ear made his belly burn hot.

And most importantly, when he’s safe in bed and the sun has gone down, he absolutely doesn’t get off to the thought of long limbs and beard-burn kisses.


	5. quīnque

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again! I was on a roll with writing so I knocked this one out real quick too. It got a lil more angsty than I was anticipating. oopsies.  
> I hope that you all have had a lovely morning, day, evening, or night!  
> as always, I love to chat! comments fuel my fiction engine and [new friends](http://www.onesaltydemon.tumblr.com) make it easier to cope with the bullshit life throws at us!  
> stay spooky friendos!

Shane could kill Ryan right now. He's not going to but, y’know, the sentiment’s there.

He’s currently lying on the floor of an old-ass ship listening to his friend jump at every creak of the metal hull yet completely ignore the spectral monstrosity that's hovering less than a foot above him. Okay, Shane will admit that’s a tad unfair. For a human, Ryan’s already had far more paranormal experiences than most. It's not his fault that his cones and rods and what-the-fuck-ever don't let him see what's right in front of him. 

And, look, maybe Shane panics a little when he hears Ryan’s breathing start to even out.  _ Maybe _ he’s a little flustered when the ghastly shape starts to descend upon his nearly unconscious friend. And, yeah,  _ maybe _ there’s a more subtle way to get rid of this wispy motherfucker that doesn’t involve drawing a ghoul-banishing sigil onto the bottom of his foot with mana and kicking it into next week. And  **_maybe_ ** he could've been more careful to not kick his sleeping friend, depriving him of the few minutes of sleep he'd get all night! 

Unfortunately, Shane  _ did _ do all of these thing. But before everyone grabs their pitchforks and torches, they should try to discreetly (and blindly!) perform arcane rituals next to an unsuspecting human who's about to have their goddamn soul sucked out through their nose like a toddler trying to get the last drops of a chocolate milkshake. 

“Shane? Did you just kick me?”

He rolls over slowly and tries to make his voice groggier. It kind of works. Shane would give himself a solid B+. “Yeah, I did, sorry.”

 

Neither of them fall asleep that night.

* * *

_ He’s sitting in the pub he and Baltaar frequent the most, trying to flick peanuts between Ramaldon’s horns. His most recent attempt goes sailing over her head, perfectly following her lime green mohawk, and lands in her G&T. _

_ She turns to fight the culprit, but when her eyes land on him, her expression morphs into one of pity. “I just heard about the ruling. I’m so sorry.” _

_ Before he can ask for clarification, she points to the television in the corner above the bar. He can't make out the newscaster’s commentary, but he does recognize the icy landscape of the footage they're airing. It's right outside the pub’s door. _

_ He's inexplicably compelled to go outside, to try to see exactly what the broadcast is trying to show him. When he stands up, he feels like molten ore, heavy and sluggish and hot all over. His feet aren't listening to his brain, and he sinks his claws into the cedar floorboards.  _

_ He’s almost made it to the door, almost fought tooth and nail to see… whatever’s on the other side _ .  _ A bright light explodes in front of him. A single outstretched arm blocks out only a fraction of the searing white, but it’s enough to give him the strength to drive forward. He reaches up instinctually, and just as his fingers are about to make purchase, the hand recoils.  _

_ With one word, just three sharp-edged syllables willed into existence from the core of this beacon of hope, he is utterly, methodically, irreparably destroyed.  _

 

_ “Unworthy.” _

* * *

_ He’s standing in the middle of ice and snow, completely lost. Pulling out his phone, he sees he has no signal, so he futilely waves it around, hoping God will give him just  _ one fucking break. _ He smacks it against his hand a few times before jamming the lock button and shoving it into his pocket.  _

_In the distance, there's a faint scratching followed by someone shouting. Every bone, every ligament, every_ goddamn cell in his body _is screaming at him not to walk towards the noise. He can't help it. He puts one foot in front of the other, satisfied by the crisp crunch of slush beneath his boots._

_ But the farther he goes and the faster he runs, the more the crunching turns into a messy, sloppy squelch. He sees a lone building on the horizon and pushes his body harder than he has in years.  _

_ The frozen earth starts melting under every strike of his soles, and before he has a chance to cry out, the all-too-familiar sensation of falling and of flame overtakes him. _

* * *

Shane silently makes a vow to never sleep topside again. He pulls on his leather jacket, ties his scarf, and disappears from the material plane.

* * *

Ryan is losing his fucking mind. He hasn't slept since his nightmare, since the day after the Queen  _ fucking  _ Mary. According to some quick finger arithmetic -- he's fucking exhausted, okay? -- that puts him at roughly three and a half days without sleep. 

And to make matters worse, he hasn't seen Shane once. No calls, no texts, no emails. Their boss hand-waved away the absence, claimed that Shane had mentioned it weeks ago. Ryan is absolutely certain that that isn't the case. 

They’ve filmed the next two episodes of True Crime already, and he’s done with all the edits, but there’s something deeply upsetting about submitting the final cuts without Shane’s approval. 

He stares at his friend’s empty chair and nearly chokes on the bile that rises in his throat. 

_ He’s fine. Probably a family emergency. He’s coming back. _

Sighing, Ryan sends the exported videos to his boss.

* * *

It’s been two weeks. No one else seems alarmed by Shane’s absence, but Ryan has officially gone way beyond losing his fucking mind and is now lodged deeply into Apocalypse Scenario 22.3B. He is ready to pull out all the stops and film an entire episode of Unsolved centered around his friend’s disappearance. 

He’s called all the hospitals in a 100 mile radius as well as the ones surrounding Schaumburg. He’s checked obituaries, the crime section of every local newspaper, and googled every iteration of Shane’s name and birthdate. He can't find his best friend anywhere. 

For the first time since he learned about soulmates, Ryan feels entirely and inescapably  _ alone _ .

 

So he does what he does best. He lies. He pretends it doesn't matter. He suppresses everything that does.

 

He drinks. 

 

It's Friday night, and Ryan is surrounded by a circle of candles of varying shapes and colors. He doesn't have an actual Ouija board, so he half-assedly scribbles an approximation of one on the back of some junk mail and screws off the cap of yet another beer. 

“This is the stupidest thing I've ever done,” he mumbles to himself, but his fingers guide the cap across the messy letters. “My name is Ryan Bergara,” he pauses while he scoots the cap accordingly. “I’m reaching out to… I don't fucking know. I'm reaching out to anyone who's listening.”

He pauses, picking up the bottle and chugging half of it. Its solid  _ thunk _ as he sets it back down grounds him enough to continue.

“I've lost someone very close to me. Someone extremely special. I mean, he's a total asshole, and he annoys me in more ways than I can count, but he's my best friend, and he's missing.”

The answering silence is deafening. 

Sighing, he picks up the cap and flips it into the air with his thumb. He’s about to stand up and blow out the candles when he notices where the cap landed.

**Hello**

Something seizes in his chest, visceral and burning. His fingers are shaking, and he's trying his damndest to catch his breath. He picks up the cap again and rubs his finger over the smooth surface.

“Is there something -- I mean -- some _ one _ here with me?” He closes his eyes and flips the cap towards the ceiling once more. It lands with a soft tap, and he keeps his eyes closed and counts to ten before peering down at the board. 

**Yes**

Ryan is by no means a scholar of anatomy, but he's fairly sure that his stomach shouldn't feel like it's wrapped around his trachea. He’s scared -- he can't even think of a better synonym -- just. Really. Fucking. Scared. 

Suddenly the candles flicker slightly, and there's a warm breeze brushing against his cheek. Just a simple, soft wind is all it takes for the noose around his lungs to loosen and his heartbeat to stabilize. An indescribable calm floods his veins, and he feels like he's swaddled in an expensive robe in front of a crackling fireplace. 

After two emotionally taxing weeks, Ryan finally smiles. 

“Thank you,” he whispers before sliding the cap over  _ Goodbye. _

 

That night he sleeps better than he has in years.

* * *

After his session with the Ouija board, Ryan starts leaving out small offerings. He's not sure why he does it, really. Maybe he just wants to repay whatever or whoever was able to calm him down. 

They're just little tokens of gratitude. He leaves a candle burning the first night -- despite hearing his mother’s scolding voice in his head. The second night he leaves a raspberry Starburst on the coffee table and wakes up to just a crumpled wrapper. 

A stack of pennies left here, a slice of cake eaten there, half a glass of merlot drained.

Near the end of the third week, Ryan is setting out two dinners, not looking up from his frantic online searches. He’s gone through just about every reputable extraterrestrial forum board, every police blotter, every local John Doe that’s shown up at the hospital (and a few bittersweet times, the morgue). Nothing has lead him any closer to the truth, just Shane’s Twitter -- untouched since the night they filmed on the Queen Mary -- and a few Facebook profiles of older white dudes. 

He’s halfway through a Wikipedia article about unexplained disappearances when he notices that he has work in less than six hours. He sighs, closes his laptop, and puts the two empty dishes in the sink.

 

If asked in front of a court of law, Ryan will deny the tears that soaked his pillow until he’s six feet under. He suddenly regrets telling Shane to shut up so much. It never dawned on him how much more the silence would hurt.

* * *

Four weeks have passed and waking up is still the hardest part of Ryan’s day. In a weird turn of events, he's finding himself almost missing the nightmares; at least after those he could pretend for a brief second that his life was even remotely normal. 

When he gets to the office, he immediately grabs coffee from the break room, stashes his lunch in the fridge, and strolls towards his desk. Most of the walk over, he's concentrating on stirring the creamer evenly throughout his coffee, fighting with the flimsy bullshit excuse of a straw, but in the end it's all for naught. The second Ryan looks up, he instinctively lets go of the cup, spilling the steaming liquid all over his shins and shoes. 

“Mother _ fucker! _ ”

Shane looks up from his monitor, face uncharacteristically flat. No one else in the office seems to have noticed Ryan’s outburst. In a fit of rage, he kicks the cup as hard as he can and storms over to his coworker. 

“What. The. Fuck. Madej.” His jaw is clenched so hard that he can hear his teeth scraping together with each inhale. 

The voice he hears in response is not the one he was expecting. It’s distant, a mere shadow of anything he's ever heard Shane say. “Hey, little guy. I missed you.”

Ryan freezes. 

He breathes. 

He thinks.

His chair squeaks a little when he throws himself into it, even more so when he slides closer to his friend. This whole scene is setting off a thousand alarms in his head.

Something is incredibly wrong with Shane.

“Dude, you scared the ever-living fuck out of me!” The laugh that escapes his lips is not the laugh of a man who has his shit together. It’s frantic and sharp and way too high-pitched. He tries to recover smoothly but -- rather understandably -- fails. “I mean, I totally thought I was gonna have to find another asshole to drag along to the middle of fuckin' nowhere! What the hell, man?”

An emotion passes over Shane’s features that Ryan in no way has the vocabulary to describe. It’s so startlingly out of place that he's just about ready to call the UFO tip line to report a real-life case of  _ The Body Snatchers. _

After a brief pause, Shane shrugs. “I’m sure there's a million people who would love to be on the show, Ry.”

Ryan can feel his heart breaking in slow motion. If you gave him the raw footage and some editing software, he could show you the exact frame, down to the nanosecond, that something inside him shattered into a million different fragments -- not for himself, but for the man sitting across from him who has somehow deluded himself into believing that Ryan would want anyone besides Shane to be his co-host. That they weren't a package deal: Shane Madej and Ryan Bergara, the ghouligans. That Ryan hadn't spent the last month turning over every stone trying to find this long-limbed  _ idiot  _ who decided to just up and leave his entire life behind.

That Ryan wouldn’t do literally anything and everything for him. 

He attempts to voice his thoughts more times than he's proud to admit, but there just aren't any words, English or otherwise, that can properly convey the things he needs Shane to understand this instant. Instead, he throws his arms around his neck and hugs him as tightly as he can before breathing the next best idea he can muster against Shane’s collarbone.

 

“I’m just really glad you decided to come back, big guy. Welcome home.”

* * *

_ Home, _ Shane thinks, before closing his eyes and resting his chin on the crown of Ryan’s head.  _ I quite like the sound of that. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update: sry abt the angst! [here's ](http://i.imgur.com/fGh6bn4.jpg) a picture of my little goblin, Detective Adrienne Monk, wearing the bowtie my brother and his wife sent her to wear on 5/31 for my birthday!


	6. sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! I saw my neurologist and it's very likely I have MS so I'm going to get an MRI done on Friday which is very scary! (๑°⌓°๑)  
> but!!! tomorrow (5/31) is my birthday! I'm turning 24 (´･ω･｀)!!  
> anyways have some boys who love each other and some emotions  
> feel free to yell at me in the comments or [here](http://onesaltydemon.tumblr.com) and pls enjoy [my kitty cat](https://i.imgur.com/fGh6bn4.jpg)!

Ryan is surprised by how easy it is to instinctively fall back into their routines after a month of agony. As they’re leaving for Kentucky, he realizes that neither of them have mentioned Shane’s mysterious absence. Honestly, the curiosity is killing him, but Shane is an adult. He’s allowed to keep things private if he wants.

Mostly he’s a little disappointed that his friend doesn’t seem to trust him enough to confide in him. There's no way it can be that bad! Like even if Shane had spent the last month on the run from the law for murder… Ryan’s surprisingly more upset that he wasn’t asked to help hide the body. Not that he would ever admit that aloud -- especially if there’s a possibility that Father Thomas might catch wind of it. Still, there isn’t a single imaginable scenario that would compel him to keep anything from Shane. 

He taps his thumbs against the steering wheel of the rental car and sighs.

* * *

It isn’t that Shane is trying to avoid talking to Ryan about his unexplained disappearance, he swears. Really it’s just an amalgamation of lacking any conceivable vocabulary to lay out his motivations in a clear, concise way.

On top of that, there hasn’t exactly been an opportune time. Believe it or not, there’s not exactly many natural segues into  _ hey, sorry I was missing for a month; it turns out that I’ve tricked you into thinking I’m human and in turn tricked myself into nearly believing it too. Surprise! I’m a demon! The one creature you’ve sworn you would never associate if at all possible! Also, I think I’m in love with you! _

…  _ I think you’re my soulmate? _

 

The pain that shoots through his finger snaps him back to the present. He’s been absentmindedly chewing on the side of his thumb while lost in his thoughts and one of his canines must’ve momentarily lost its glamour. He presses his other hand against the sore and allows mana to flow into it to stop the bleeding.

When he finally looks over at Ryan, he’s wringing his own hands around the steering wheel, obviously having an internal debate of his own. He must sense Shane watching him because he makes eye contact soon after.

He clears his throat and looks back at the road. “Hey, uh…” His voice is raspy from lack of use. They hadn’t talked much on the trip out here, instead relying on the ease with which they can read each other’s body language. He lick his lips. Breathes through his nose. Grips the steering wheel even tighter. “We should talk.”

Balsamic vinaigrette -- sweet, acidic, no frills. Something earthy, like peat, natural. A hint of something buzzing under the initial mouthfeel, but not offensive or overwhelming.

“Yeah,” he croaks in response. Clears his own throat. “Yeah. I owe you an apology.” Pauses. Feels the hellfire in his chest crackle. Tastes cinnamon and paprika. Counts to three. “Ryan, I’m… Fuck. I’m so sorry, Ryan.”

Ryan doesn’t respond at first. Shane bites his tongue and waits.

After an impossibly long moment, Ryan pulls onto a side street. He follows the road a little ways before pulling off the shoulder and parking. 

His face looks absolutely angelic under the setting sun. Shane hasn’t ever been a huge fan of poetry, but he suddenly understands why so many folks devote their whole lives to weaving delicate strands of sound and fanciful turns of phrase into tableaus of passion, fully comprehends the obsession with attempting to harness human understanding and use it to capture concepts transcending holiness itself. 

Simply put, Ryan Bergara is breathtakingly beautiful.

But there’s a furrow to his brow that leaves Shane choking on the guilt-inducing knowledge that  _ he’s _ the one who put it there. He’s beginning to spiral, to go down the same path that initially convinced him to run away from everything he’s ever wanted, to abandon the only person who has ever truly made him feel  _ human. _

“Why?”

There’s so much packed into those three letters. 

_ Why did you leave? Why did you come back? Why have we been ignoring it? _

_ Why now? _

Shane lets the word percolate in his mind, makes himself taste the sadness, the pain.

Before he can respond, Ryan rushes to add, “I fucking missed you, Shane. I missed you so much that I made my own goddamn Ouija board in my own goddamn home. I was willing to invite things that I can’t even begin to know the full power of into one of the only places I’ve ever felt safe. So, just… What could have possibly happened that you couldn’t have just fucking told me about?” 

His voice is quickly becoming more impassioned, and he’s punctuating his words by pressing his finger into Shane’s sternum. “What the  _ fuck _ could you have possibly done that was so atrocious that you fell off the face of the goddamn  _ planet _ without even  _ one motherfucking text? _ ”

The prodding is becoming more and more forceful that Shane is pretty sure, were he indeed human, it would blossom into vivid greens, blues, and violets tomorrow morning. 

“What could be so fucking monumentally life-altering that you couldn’t tell one of your closest friends where you were for four  _ goddamn  _ weeks? What could be--” He stops, frustration apparently constricting his lungs and keeping him from continuing. 

A few more aborted noises of outrage and disbelief kick Shane into action.

 

In hindsight, he should’ve come completely clean. He should’ve told Ryan the story of a naïve man and a crossroads deal gone wrong all those centuries ago. He should have told him about the dream back before his damnation, about the brown-eyed man with the wheezing laughter who visited in his sleep, who drew him to a forgotten intersection in a forgotten city in a forgotten year.

He should’ve told him about selling his soul for the chance to meet his soulmate. He should’ve told him that he didn’t realize that you should be careful not only with what you wish for, but how you wish for it. 

He should’ve told him of the blinding fury he felt when the dreams stopped. He should’ve told him about the seemingly endless years he spent wreaking havoc on the planet when he realized that  _ you cannot have a soulmate when you do not have a soul. _

He should’ve told him that he’s never forgotten his face.

He should’ve told him that maybe, if the conditions are right, a person can make themselves human again, that falling asleep next to him, letting themselves surrender to that mortal vulnerability might be enough to remind them of the hopeless romantic who made the worst decision for the most wonderful reason.

There’s a lot of things Shane should’ve told Ryan next.

 

Instead, what Shane actually tells Ryan, a man of sunlight and hope, the physical manifestation of what it means to truly, unselfishly  _ believe _ in something, the splendor bathed in the golden hues of the dying sunlight, is simply, “I realized I fell in love with you.”

* * *

Shane’s eyes look like they’re on fire, a color Ryan’s pretty sure humans can’t physically comprehend. He’s so caught up with searching them for the answers to all of his questions that he doesn’t process his friend’s words for a while.

When his brain finally aligns the sounds he’s hearing with their meaning, he feels like someone’s run over him with a dump truck.

“What.” It’s not exactly a question.

“Look, I can’t even begin to tell you how much I don’t want this to ruin everything we have.” Shane’s not looking at him anymore, instead intently studying the whorls of his fingertips. “I love you, Ryan Bergara. As in, I wanna show you everything life has to offer, hold your tiny little hand under the table, steal kisses from you first thing in the morning.”

Ryan’s brain is rebooting. 

In theory, he understands Shane’s words individually, but when they’re strung together in that order? In regards to how Shane  _ Motherfucking _ Madej apparently feels about him?

His gut reaction is anger. It comes on so suddenly that he thinks it might be leftover from earlier. Betrayal follows, the pang of hurt that comes from someone who claims to love you having no problem abandoning you for a solid month. 

But once he stops to take in all that is Shane -- his hunched shoulders, the unbridled sincerity in his eyes, the reverence in his voice -- he’s overcome with a flood of adoration. Shane’s disappearance hurt him more than he could have ever predicted, yes, but it’s so painfully obvious that it affected Shane just as deeply.

“You--” He shakes his head and can’t stop the bark of laughter that escapes. “You fucking  _ idiot! _ ”

Shane’s face shifts into panicked horror, but Ryan quickly grabs his hands tightly between his own.

He pulls him closer and leans awkwardly over the armrest so he can bury his face in the warmth of Shane’s neck.

“We’re absolutely gonna have a long discussion about communication later, but, Jesus Christ.” He smiles when he feels the other man shudder at the sensation of breath against skin. “Shane Madej, you’re an absolute asshole, and I fucking love you, too.”

* * *

For the first time since succumbing to fire and brimstone, Shane swears he can almost feel a heartbeat instead of a flickering flame.


	7. septem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again! thank you all for the kind birthday wishes! I had a super fun birthday!!  
> my MRI went well today! if you're interested in seeing a spooky looking brain, [look no further!](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/400561700484546563/452168686355349514/unknown.png) I should be getting the results back this upcoming week, so until then I'm distracting myself with spooky ghoul boys.  
> help keep my mind off it by talking to me here or on [tumbloid ♡](http://onesaltydemon.tumblr.com)

Everything isn’t perfect after their chat in the car, but it’s by far better than it was. Ryan can feel the tension drain out of both of them, and it’s so much easier to breathe now that he at least knows why Shane left in the first place.

* * *

As they get into town, Shane starts setting up their GoPro to film their intro. He smiles softly at Ryan before hitting record. “What are we up against tonight, Ryan?”

“We’re headed to Bobby Mackey’s, which is reported to be haunted by ghosts. There’s also apparently a portal to Hell in the basement, so that’s cool.”

Shane’s glad that Ryan’s focusing on the road for once so he doesn’t see his grimace. “Demons, huh?”

Ryan laughs, but it’s clear he’s incredibly uncomfortable. “As you all know, I don’t do demons.”

Shane nearly chokes on his spit. “Thanks for breaking your one rule.” He almost adds  _for me_ but bites his tongue instead.

Ryan continues rattling off the history of the bar, but Shane is having trouble listening. All he can think about is being faced with a portal to Hell. Okay, he’s also struggling with the knowledge that he’s forcing Ryan to unknowingly break his “one rule” day after day, but he doesn’t really want to get into that train of thought too deeply if he wants to be at least halfway useful tonight.

They pull up to the front of the building and just sort of… stare at it for a little bit.

“Fuck,” sighs Ryan.

Shane awkwardly pats his hand. “It’s not gonna be as bad if you don’t go in there with an active imagination. Just take some deep breaths, little guy.”

Surprisingly (at least to Shane), Ryan flips his hand over to weave his fingers through Shane’s. The demon absentmindedly hopes that it’s low enough down to be out of frame.

“It’s not that. I, uh,” he looks up at him and lets out a self-depreciative laugh. “It’s really stupid, but I wasn’t able to get any holy water.”

If Shane could take a million baths in holy water just to make Ryan feel as safe as a stupid labeless bottle that some old white dude had waved his hands over, he’d do it without question. “Guess you’ll just have to rely on me to keep you safe.” 

Despite Ryan not knowing how true that statement is, the way he beams up at Shane almost makes it easier to deal with.

 

They’re making good progress through the first floor when Ryan freezes. Shane nearly barrels into his back, his own gaze focused on the woman pacing just on the other side of the doorway. He glances down to see his friend wide-eyed and trembling.

“What?” he asks, suddenly wondering if Ryan can actually see the lady too. “Did you see something?”

Nodding, Ryan confirms his suspicions. “I thought I saw something pass by the…” He trails off, swinging the beam of his flashlight back and forth over the doorway. Shaking his head, he adds, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

He sounds so dejected that Shane wants to tell him everything. Just, stop the show, explain who he is and the shitty journey he’s traveled to get here. But the woman starts screaming and lunges towards him, and he’s got to move quickly before she collides with him.

Instead of spilling his secrets, he knocks his hip against Ryan’s to cunningly push them both out of the way. It’s almost natural the way their bodies connect and move, and Shane’s only a little disappointed when he steps away.

Mostly he’s glad that Johanna didn’t manage to vomit on them. He’s almost certain that Ryan would be okay, but he exists as a connection between two planes. The vomit would most definitely appear on his clothing, and that’s a bit harder to explain away than footsteps and whispers.

Ryan hurries through the door and passes his flashlight over the room a little too frantically. Shane steps up behind him and murmurs as low as he can to try to avoid his words getting picked up by the recorders.

“It’s okay, Ry. It’s just the light playing tricks on you. Overactive imagination, right?”

He huffs in frustration, but it lacks any real heat. His knuckles loosen around the handle of his light the tiniest bit, and Shane counts that as a victory.

Ryan talks about some more of the history of the room they’re in, about the mysterious -- and unconfirmed -- story of Johanna’s murder-suicide. Shane can see Johanna shuffling closer and doesn’t have a way to discreetly get them out of the room this time. His eyes flit from object to object, desperately looking for anything that could slow her down.

_There!_

He directs his beam up at the disco ball on the ceiling. The reaction is exactly the one he wants; Johanna is dazed by the bright light and stumbles backwards, shielding her eyes. Ryan breaks into laughter when he realizes what he was spooked by, and Shane relishes in the joyful peals.

Emboldened by the ghost now seated on the floor, Shane takes advantage of the darkness and removes a bit of his glamour. He takes a few steps towards her and raises his voice.

“I’m not scared of you.” He pauses and steals a glance at Ryan. “Ryan’s not scared of you either.”

“Nope! Nope! That’s not true!” He gasps softly and turns to Shane. “You keep tricking me into to talking to them!”

Shane laughs at his theatrically betrayed voice, but there’s a deep pang of guilt that pierces his gut. _Crafty demon. Unworthy._

The floorboards creak above them, and Ryan steps closer to his side. “You heard that right?”

“Yeah, sounds like someone’s walking around up there. Let’s go check it out.”

Poor cable management and the very welcoming sign on the door aside, there’s not much to the upstairs apartment; it's super shitty and run down, clearly not upkept in order to maintain the “aesthetic.”

“How are ya feelin’, little guy?” Shane can taste the sourness Ryan’s radiating, the chalky bitterness he associates with churning stomach acid.

“I hate the way this room makes me feel,” he admits.

There’s some scratching coming from under his feet, but nothing seems to present any immediate danger. Still, he’s not exactly thrilled that Ryan is trying to get past a barricaded door.

“If it says danger, I wouldn’t go in there.”

Ryan nudges the stool aside and opens the door. “Why was it pinning it shut?”

The scratching is louder, and Shane really doesn’t want Ryan to walk in to such an enclosed space. It would be so easy for the door to swing shut, for Ryan to be trapped by something that wouldn’t be nearly as gentle as Shane would be. He takes a few steps forward and peers in. “Oh! They have Peter Frampton tapes in here… and Springsteen! Ooh!”

Ryan’s laughter drowns out the growling at his feet.

 

The basement is as horrible as it possibly can be. It’s essentially a goddamn family reunion down here. Well, if half of your family wants to see you strung up along a telephone wire by your toes. So, yeah, essentially the average family reunion.

He feels so ridiculous sitting on a folding chair while Baltaar stares down two demons who seem much less enthused about Shane’s -- and by extension, Ryan’s -- presence.

There’s also a young woman sitting in the corner holding her head. So, like, that’s really helping the overall vibe in here.

Ryan’s set up the unscrewed MagLight and takes a deep breath, completely unaware of the showdown happening a few feet away from him. The silence is making Shane uneasy.

“Now what?” he teases, impatient to fill the room with noise. “Now what, Ryan?”

“Shut up, Shane!”

Go big or go home, right? “Hey demons!” he yells into the darkness. “Turn the flashlight on if you want to hurt us!” It immediately flickers to life.

“Fucking shit!”

Shane fights the impulse to pull Ryan into his lap and just hold him close. _Now is not the time._

“It’s just a coincidence.”

He can nearly hear Ryan roll his eyes despite being so shaken. “I knew you’d fucking say that.”

“Now turn it off, demons! **Plunge us into darkness!** ” he’s bellowing directly into Malto’s disgusting face at this point, and it actually feels really damn good. “ **Demons?! ...** See, it's nothing. It's bologna."

Baltaar snarls from the other end of the room when Malto unsheaths his claws, but winks in Shane’s direction nevertheless. Shane’s giddy on the surge of power he feels knowing that he and his oldest friend have complete control here.

The light stays on, and Ryan lets out his breath. He retrieves his flashlight and screws the top back in place.

“You fucking asshole.” There's no venom in the words, and if Shane isn't mistaken, it's almost a term of endearment at this point. “You ready for the portal? It’s just over here.”

“I was born ready, baby!”

Ryan snorts and softly punches his shoulder. “Don’t call me baby.”

Shane can feel the energy radiating from the direction they’re heading. He closes his eyes and lets it soak into his skin while Ryan ties a rope around his waist.

“What?” he demands when he sees Shane eyeing him. They used to do this in the Old Testament!”

Shane’s pretty sure that a demon could tear through that rope in a fraction of a second, but as long as having it tied around his waist helps Ryan, he won’t essentially be sending out personalized invitations with with a terror-flavored hors d'oeuvre to any demon within fifty miles. “Good luck in there.” He lets his fingers rest against Ryan’s skin a little longer than necessary when he takes the loose end of the rope from him and revels in the soft expression that passes over the man’s face in return. “I’ll just be right here if you need me.”

He nods. “If I yank on this, pull me out immediately.” He smiles when Shane flashes him a thumbs up.

Baltaar makes a gagging sound behind him. “Dude, you’re so far gone.” He thrusts his hips a few times to rile Shane up. “Seriously though, you should’ve warned me you were coming. You know I hate mixing business and pleasure.”

Shane stares down at his face-cam. “I never imagined that I would be spending my night looking for ‘ghosts,’” he flexes his fingers into air quotes, “with BuzzFeed’s Most Easily Frightened, yet, here I am. Life sure is a mystery sometimes.” He pointedly looks back up at Baltaar, who seems to realize what he’s doing.

“Point taken. Still, Shanezche, this is fucking ridiculous. This isn’t hunting ghosts. This is walking into a turf war without even a pebble for defense.”

Checking his watch tells him that Ryan should be on his way out soon. “Man, Ryan’s probably shitting himself in that pit alone. He tends to lose his mind when left to his own devices.”

Baltaar raises both his middle fingers and goes into the pit to check on the human, though he does throw a bit of snark over his shoulder before he disappears into the darkness. “I charge triple for last-minute babysitting. The check better be in the mail.”

He feels the rope start to slacken and tries to look nonchalant when Ryan comes out trailed by Baltaar. Honestly, those horns are so fucking ridiculous. Who the fuck would want those stupid spires sticking out of their head? He looks like he belongs out on the goddamn savannah.

“Was it scary?” he asks, mostly as a joke, but he _is_ genuinely concerned anytime Ryan’s out of his sight.

“Yeah, it was fucking scary,” he says, but the words don’t taste as bitter before. God, he owes Baltaar big time.

Well, he did until Dumbhorns McRudeman doesn’t stop cackling the entire time Ryan insists on tying the rope around Shane’s waist as well.

“That’s… so unnecessary,” he grumbles. Ryan shushes him, but Baltaar knows he wasn’t talking to the human. “Fine, you… stay out here.” Both men give varying sounds of accord. “I’ve got a fucking job to do.”

He doesn’t love leaving Ryan alone with three demons, even if one of them is on their side. But he’s got a camera strapped to his chest and another one in his hand, so he’ll be damned ( _Ha!_ ) if he doesn’t get usable footage for this episode.

The scratching is impossibly louder down here. His marvellous and intelligent brain impulsively decides that the best course of action is drowning it out with verbal abuse.

“Hey there, demons! It’s me, ya boi!” The scratching gets louder, and when he turns around, he can make out the shape of two of his least favorite entities in the shadows. He’s thankful for the shitty quality of the night-vision camera as he stares them down. “I’m in your hole, and uh, it’s very dark. And frankly, I don’t _believe_ in you.” The demons snarl at his insult so he continues a bit louder, “But my friend Ryan does. He’s a-- I wouldn’t say _logical_ person, but… smart.” He hears Baltaar laughing in the distance.

He steps towards the crouched shadows and smiles. “Please do try to kill me.”

For a moment, Shane’s confidence waivers. He’s still technically outnumbered while Baltaar keeps an eye on Ryan, and they _are_ next to a portal to Hell that any number of entities could come out of. But, in the end, Shane’s time is up, and the demons didn’t do much more than gnash their teeth angrily at him and inch closer to the source of the malevolent energy. He might take a second to kick Malto on the way out, but that’s just his own sinful little secret.

 

Ryan pulls his beanie down further and gloats at the demons. Shane can’t help but feel endeared to the man shouting obscenities at his brethren.

 

As they’re climbing back into their car, Shane takes one last survey of Bobby Mackey’s. Baltaar’s sipping a beer on the sidewalk outside, and when they make eye contact, he holds his pinky and thumb up to his ear. “We need to talk soon!”

 

Shane nods, closes the door, and finds Ryan’s hand with his own. When Ryan squeezes back, Shane nervously offers "Bravery is a sexy look for you. Is that... is that a thing I can say now?"

Ryan's face flushes, and Shane can taste the same sweet spice from before, back at the zoo before Baltaar so rudely interrupted. He closes his eyes and takes it in, savoring the sensation of the flavor rolling over his tongue. 

After a beat, Ryan makes a strange sound in the back of his throat. When Shane opens his eyes, the human is significantly closer to his face. "Fuck it," he says. "Can I kiss you?"

Shane freezes and then enthusiastically nods. Before he can even catch his breath, Ryan's lips are on his, and for the first time, he can taste every emotion firsthand. 

Because Ryan feels so passionately. He commits to every whisper of his heart and never pretends otherwise. Every electrical impulse in his body fuels him towards expression, towards understanding. Shane's not sure he's ever had that, that instinctual drive to embrace every facet the world and be so whole-heartedly desperate for reciprocation. He's existed on this plane of reality for countless years and never once drank so deeply from the font of humanity.

Ryan Bergara is the most addicting substance available, and Shane is officially a junkie.


	8. octō

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! here's a longer one. lots happens!  
> come talk on [tumblr](http://onesaltydemon.tumblr.com/) or in the comments here! i am so grateful to be hearing from so many of you!! it makes writing this whole mess totally worth it!!  
> i hope you had a lovely weekend!! ♥♥♥

Dating Shane is an interesting experience. There’s a lot more late night History Channel binges -- though Shane already seems to know everything the documentaries cover at this point -- and a lot of homemade dinners. Most nights, they head back to Ryan’s apartment after work and play music while making dinner, stopping to dance as things cook. 

It’s more than Ryan had dared hope for. He’d long since convinced himself that because he didn’t have dreams, he wouldn’t ever find this kind of a connection with anyone, that he would die a sad and lonely man surrounded by fourteen dogs who would eat his body once their food ran out.

Instead, more nights than not, he tumbles into bed with a man who seems to worship the ground he stands on. When the sun begins pouring in through the blinds in the mornings, he rolls over to see Shane’s crinkled eyes, so relaxed and full of fondness that he could almost believe that he was just imagining this whole thing. There’s no way he was lucky enough to beat the odds and find someone who genuinely cares and appreciates him, eccentricities and all.

Still, there are days he finds himself still wondering about  _ where _ Shane went for a month. He doesn’t drive himself crazy about it, now knowing Shane’s motives, but it’s definitely a thought that lingers in the corners of his mind, rearing its ugly head when he has nothing else to focus on.

 

* * *

Hunting for Bigfoot is a hell of a lot more domestic than Ryan ever anticipated. They make a bit of a road trip out of it, stopping at the campy stores along the way, taking as many pictures as their phones would allow.

It’s surreal to see Shane believe so deeply in the existence of something. A year ago, Ryan would’ve been willing to bet everything he owned that Shane was just… emotional anti-matter; he’s always seemed to just suck up any theory Ryan’s put forth. But now he’s standing on a log in the middle of nowhere making ridiculous whooping noises to try to convince one of the most sought-after cryptids to join them for a PBR. 

Like he said, utterly surreal.

When they finally get back to their hotel room and shave off their ‘Squatch Hunting beards, Ryan is pressing Shane back into the bed before he realizes what he’s doing. He owes his autopilot a beer or three for that night.

 

* * *

 

Another week passes, and Ryan’s starting to wonder why they never sleep over at Shane’s. In fact, he’s not actually sure Shane even  _ has _ an apartment at this point. He doesn’t realize that Shane has left several outfits, a toothbrush, and even his own toiletries until he goes to do laundry. But, honestly? Ryan can’t say that he minds. It’s nice to feel Shane’s fingers running through his hair as he falls asleep, and it’s even more fantastic to wake up to a hot cup of coffee waiting for him on the nightstand.

 

* * *

 

Waverly Hills Sanatorium looks spooky as fuck. Ryan can already feel his heart in his throat, and all that’s happened is that Shane told the spirits that they’re there. He doesn’t know why his skin is crawling at the idea of his boyfriend just offering them up like that immediately.

They talk with Tina, the director of the sanatorium, for a while and learn more of the backstory. He can’t help but notice that Shane seems to be looking behind her the whole time, but it’s also hard to tell where his mind is during these investigations. It’s probably not particularly exciting to stand in the dark in absolute silence when you don’t believe in the paranormal.

He says as much when they’re filming the exposition. “I just don’t get any of this,” he admits, waving at the general concept of Shane not being frightened by their current location.

His boyfriend smiles at him. “I know.” It’s said with so much sweetness that Ryan can almost forget where they are. After a moment, Shane prompts him, “Why don’t you tell us about the history?”

So he starts to read off the notes he’d taken on the history of this place. They joke about the some of the more horrific parts, Shane clearly trying to make Ryan more at ease. And it’s working, until Shane decides to go back into his “overactive imagination” spiel.

“You ever heard of that old thing about where you look at your face in the mirror in low light and it eventually looks demonic?”

Ryan sputters, unable to specifically name why that sentence makes him so deeply uncomfortable. “What?”

“Look it up!” Shane points just past the corner, “It’s a thing on the internet!”

Ryan’s starting to panic a little.  _ It’s nothing,  _ he reminds himself.  _ Playing it up for the audience. That’s all. _ “Who are you pointing to?”

Shane laughs. “The uh, Shaniacs!” 

Ryan laughs along at the ridiculousness of the man sitting next to him, but he’s still incredibly unsettled.

 

* * *

 

Shane’s eyes keep locking on the same fixed points around the theatre, so Ryan can’t help but ask, “Do you feel… strange?” He sure as hell does.

His boyfriend looks startled, but after a slight hesitation, says he doesn’t.

They stand in silence for a while, and despite Shane still seemingly making eye contact with the darkness, he denies hearing anything.

 

* * *

 

“This looks like Satan’s asshole!” Again, it’s  _ just a joke _ , but the vice around his stomach tightens another notch.

Instead, they sit in the quiet once again, on opposite ends of the tunnel, and Ryan can’t run back up the steps fast enough. He knows for a fact that there’s something deeper down, and he’s a little pissed that Shane made him stay down at the worse end.

As they’re walking back into the hospital, Ryan says, “I gotta imagine that place is the closest thing to Hell.” He cuts off with a vaguely awkward wheeze. 

Shane hums before responding. “Not really,” he says it with such conviction that Ryan wonders if he takes fucking day-trips there or something, “‘cause there’s no malice there. It’s just dead people… who died of a disease.”

He shrugs and leads the way back through door, leaving Ryan struggling to catch up with both his coworker and his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

Shane is still tracking movements with his eyes through the darkness, and it’s driving Ryan absolutely batshit. 

“Feel any strange feelings?” he asks.

Shane shifts the weight of his equipment and replies, “I feel cold?”

 

It isn’t until Ryan’s standing with a blue ball in his hand, inches away from Shane, that he realizes that Shane is a literal furnace who has never once been cold.

 

* * *

 

Shane’s not impressed with this place. Yeah, there’s ghosts, whatever. They’re pretty boring as far as ghosts go. Lots of coughing and crying, a dog whimpering in the bottom of the elevator shaft. It’s all incredibly old hat. 

Still, it’s really affecting Ryan for some reason. A creeping suspicion starts to invade his mind that maybe he’s acting different because they both agreed to keep this thing between them from the fans for as long as possible. Should he be more cognizant of where he’s standing? He knows that he can get a pretty bad case of the heart-eyes -- they have an extensive folder of photos they can’t post to Instagram because of his inability to look at Ryan in any other way -- and maybe that’s making Ryan uncomfortable in a professional setting? He decides to be as bro-y as possible to try to offset the lovesick puppy dog inside him.

He feels his boyfriend stiffen next to him, so he actually pays attention to the hallway ahead of them. There’s a little boy standing at the intersection of the next hallway, his lips stained red with what Shane can only assume is blood. 

Ryan’s rambling inappropriate things about playing with balls, and Shane can’t control the laughter that rips from the bottom of his stomach. It’s the familiar levity that he’s grown accustomed to with Ryan. He’s only a little remorseful that their outburst seems to scare Timmy away. 

But when they find the ball sitting beneath the spray painted  _ Ryan, _ he hears the boy’s soft laughter. It’s actually kind of a comfort to him that they were able to entertain the kid. He doubts many people react as enthusiastically as Shane did. He shoots him a wink as they leave the hallway.

 

* * *

 

Sleeping would probably be easier if he wasn’t listening to Mary going on about being murdered. Sure, it sucks, and this isn’t necessarily the most picturesque place to be left for all eternity. He flashes his canines at her, and she retreats to the corner of the room for the rest of the night, only letting out the occasional wail when she suspects Shane’s forgotten about her.

Ryan seems to pick up on the loudest one in the middle of the night. “Did you hear that?”

Shane rolls over, feigning sleepiness. “No.”

He sees Ryan’s flashlight flicker on, followed by his whisper. “Am I freaking myself out again?”

Shane chuckles and lovingly tells him to go back to sleep. He closes his own eyes, but doesn’t let himself slip into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

Ryan can’t help it. His boyfriend isn’t taking his concerns seriously, instead just sleeping through the night. He does feel a little bad when the ringing of FaceTime seems to wake him up. 

Helen is a joy to talk to, as always. It’s nice to hear someone not tease him too badly about his fear. 

“Shane’s asleep,” he tells her, but amends his statement when he hears him roll over. “Or, he was until I called you.”

She laughs at Shane’s noises of confusion. “Shane, did you think I was a ghost?”

Though his face is pressed against the pillow, Shane grunts out a muffled confirmation. 

He lets Helen go to bed a few minutes later, but he feels much more relaxed having had contact with the outside world. His eyes eventually get heavy watching the measured rise and fall of Shane’s chest.

 

* * *

 

Ryan forgets about the weirdness he felt at Waverly Hills.

 

* * *

 

Scratch that. Ryan forgets about the weirdness he felt at Waverly Hills until they’re sharing a bed in the Lizzie Borden House. It’s hard to resist folding his body around his boyfriend’s sleeping form, but the cameras are rolling, and he doesn’t want to have to hide the tape from the camera crew later. 

 

* * *

 

Ryan gives him a copy of his apartment keys. Shane gives him a check for half of the rent. Shane says an old friend decided to take over his lease, and Ryan has no reason to doubt him.

He hasn’t had any dreams since Shane’s disappearance. 

When he wakes up in the morning, Shane’s sitting beside him in bed sipping from a mug and doing a crossword puzzle.

 

* * *

 

Ryan feels vindicated when Shane confirms hearing footsteps all night. So vindicated, in fact, that -- when coupled with taking a bath together and sleeping together but not touching -- Ryan all but throws himself on top of Shane the second they get back to the hotel they’ll be staying at for the rest of their trip. 

He revels in the sensation of being so completely surrounded, drinks his fill of skin sliding along sweaty skin, of Shane’s sweltering heat enveloping him, filling him up and stretching him out. His so acutely aware of every point of contact between them could probably count the exact number of atoms that are touching.

Shane kisses him the way a person desperately pulls in air after nearly drowning. It makes Ryan’s head spin and his toes curl. He can’t remember the last time he felt so invincible. Every nerve in his body is positively singing, every cell aflame with adoration.

They fall back against the pillows, slowly kissing between declarations of love. Ryan falls asleep with his head against Shane’s chest, his last thought that Shane’s heartbeat is so calming, almost like listening to a flickering fireplace in the dead of winter.

 

* * *

 

_ The light above him is so blinding. He’s holding his arms in front of his face to shield his eyes. _

Unworthy.

_ The hand reaches out again, pushes him backwards. He’s falling, falling, falling, and he reaches his arms out wildly to find anything to stop his descent. His palms sting as they slap against cold metal, and he immediately grabs on despite the pain.  _

Unworthy.

_ The light follows him down, taking on a more humanoid form. It steps on his fingers one by one, forcing him to let go of the bars he’s clutching. He hits the earthen floor, feels the heat curling up from the packed dirt. _

Unworthy.

_ “Please,” he begs. He doesn’t care how pitiful he sounds. This is Lucifer’s Cage. He’s heard the stories, knows his fate if he remains here. “Please, I’ll do anything.” _

Unworthy.

_ His eyes are adjusting to the light when he hears the jingling of a key ring, the grinding of a tumbler.  _

Unworthy.

_ The last thing he sees before the darkness takes over is the disgust and horror on Ryan’s face. _

Unworthy.

 

* * *

 

_ He’s standing in front of a terrible creature, its black eyes betraying its fear. He kicks it backwards into the pit. It calls out to him in a language he doesn’t understand, even the sound of the language unclean. It’s fighting for purchase on the bars of the cell, its pleading more insistent.  _

_ As he forces the beast back, the screams become more and more human -- a demonic trick most likely. _

_ He turns the key in the lock and begins his ascent back up to the top of the pit. He glances down one final time at the vile creature in the cage, only to see Shane’s terrified face calling out to him. _

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up, Shane’s in the shower, so he puts on his shoes and walks to the apothecary he saw on the end of the block. He buys every kind of smudging stick they have and fills his pockets with as many angelica roots and bottles of anise essence as he can. The solid weight of his purchases in his hand helps to shove his heart back from his throat to his chest.

On the way back, he grabs some coffee and breakfast for them to share.

 

* * *

 

Shane’s grateful to see his boyfriend return with food, and he quickly devours the breakfast sandwich he’s handed. After he’s filled his stomach, he stretches out on the unmade bed, propping himself up on his elbow. Ryan is definitely trying to hide his anxiety about something, so Shane decides to just bite the bullet and tell him about his night.

“Wanna hear something bizarre?”

Ryan’s head snaps up, but he relaxes when he realizes it’s just his boyfriend. “Shane Madej thinks something is bizarre? Alert the presses, this is big news!”

Shane throws one of the pillows at him. “You’re an asshole. Now I don’t even wanna tell you.”

He laughs and wraps his arms around the pillow. “Fine, big guy. What do you find so bizarre?”

Shane flips over, head hanging off the end of the bed. Ryan looks really different upside-down, but he’s still as stunning as ever. He rests his ankle against the other knee, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. “Last night, after we fell asleep, I had a nightmare.”

Ryan studies him carefully, then the tension seeps out of his shoulders. “Oh, thank God. Jesus Christ. I thought I was defective or something!”

“Or something,” Shane chides, laughing when the pillow comes sailing back in his direction. “Okay, fine. You’re perfectly normal, Ryan. There’s absolutely nothing outstanding about you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

He shakes with wheezing laughter in response. “I fucking thought I was crazy, so I went out and bought a bunch of cleansing herbs and shit.” He pulls out the bag of stuff and a lighter. 

 

Shane doesn’t know how to stop the sequence of events that follows. He can’t find the words to tell Ryan not to burn anything in here, to not put the anise in the incensor, to not sprinkle the ground angelica in the corners of the room.

He slams his feet into his boots before he can make any intelligent statement.

“I think I’m gonna go for a walk. You wanna come?”

Ryan just holds a smoldering bundle of sage loosely in his hand and shrugs in response.

 

* * *

 

They don’t talk about Shane’s sudden need to leave the hotel, his hurry to get out the door as fast as fucking possible. But Shane knows what happens when faced with banishment. He could feel the fire in his chest pulling him away -- away from glamour, away from his humanity, away from Ryan.

Instead, they visit Bloody Mary. Shane decides she’s very kind the moment she pulls him aside to tell him that she knows what he is and to tread carefully here. That as long as he left the spirits alone, she wouldn’t tell Ryan.

Their night goes by pretty quickly, despite Ryan communing with Abe -- who is absolutely terrified of Shane, though he doesn’t blame him -- and being touched by some of the more forceful spirits in the building. 

Bloody Mary comes back to close the doorway. As she’s setting the seal, he feels the deep tug again. He knows there’s not much time, not since he’s already a bit weakened from Ryan’s stupid herb binge earlier. 

In a panic, he yells, “Uh, there is about to be a fucking mudslide in my jeans if I don’t get to a bathroom this second. Thank you, Bloody Mary! Ry, I’ll see you at the hotel!” and sprints out the door. Awesome, brilliant, smooth, charming, suave. This is a list of things Shane is not. 

 

He makes it into the alley a block down from them when he’s finally torn off from this plane.

 

* * *

 

To him, it was a mere blink of an eye, but he knows that it’s been about twenty minutes topside. He blinks back to Earth, standing in front of the hotel room door. 

This is so fucking awkward. He has absolutely no idea how he’s going to play this one off. 

He knocks a few times before putting in the key and swinging the door open.

“Hey, Ryan, man, I am so fucking sorry about that, I was just,” he raises his hand to nervously run it through his hair -- only for his fingernails to meet a long, curled horn.

 

Ryan faints.


	9. novem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so dang sorry about the delay y'all! that yung mental illness is sure hitting me hard!  
> I hope that everybody has been having a wonderful week!!! take care of yourselves and hug your pets!!!!  
> find me on the [tungler!](http://onesaltydemon.tumblr.com/)  
> thank you once again to everyone who has been so unbelievably kind to me and my story!!

The thing a lot of people don't tell you about panic attacks is that not everyone experiences the same symptoms. Sure, a large percentage of people shut down or hyperventilate, but not everyone. Instead, for some, your consciousness and your body are two separate entities. The former attempts to protect your sanity while the latter sweeps up the broken shards of the situation to the best of its ability.

So the second Ryan’s body goes limp, Shane’s body kicks it into overdrive. He scoops up his boyfriend -- would they still be boyfriends? Would Ryan want to shack up with an abomination like him? Could he ever possibly look past everything that… _stop thinking just do what needs to get done_ \-- and lays him gently on the mattress. Grabbing an empty cup off the dresser, he hurries to the bathroom and slams it under the tap. He sets it on the nightstand next to Ryan and feels his hellfire flicker weakly upon seeing the fragile human breathing so evenly, all the anxiety drained from his face. Shane hadn't realized how stressed Ryan’s been lately, and it's another thorn in his heart to see him so peaceful.

_Keep moving, Madej._

He makes sure all of his glamour is in place -- _a little late for that_ \-- and snaps his fingers, landing gently outside the local Wal-Mart. He rushes to the baking aisle and grabs as many types of salt as he can find. The cashier doesn't even seem to register that there's at least twelve canisters of salt, or if she does, she doesn't comment on it. Most likely because asking a crazed-looking man who's definitely over six feet tall doesn't usually lead to the best outcome, but Shane does take a mental note of the name on her shirt and vows to send her some kind of fruit basket or something. He’ll figure it out later.

The second he's behind the store, wedged as best as he can between two dumpsters, he snaps himself back to the hotel room and sets all of his purchases next to Ryan’s still unconscious body. It's not enough.

He snaps over to Ryan’s apartment and grabs all of the holy water he can find. It’s surprisingly a lot, but Shane’s managed to get him to store most of it where it can't accidentally be ingested. He _very_ carefully stuffs them into a bag and holds them out at arms length while he snaps back to the hotel room once again.

After setting the bag next to the salt, he presses two fingers against Ryan's head and focuses on pushing in his limited healing mana. Then he makes a cup of coffee and preps a second one so he can just turn on the coffeemaker when Ryan wakes up.

Once that's done, he collapses into the armchair. His limbs are tingling and he's out of breath, every ounce of energy sapped from his body.

He sips his coffee.

He waits.

Ironically, he prays.

* * *

The first thing Ryan thinks when he wakes up is _My head fucking hurts,_ followed almost immediately by _Wait, no it doesn't._ Still, he rubs a little absentmindedly at his temples.

It's a surreal experience to wake up when you didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep, your body unfamiliar with everything from the clothes you’re wearing to the surface you're laying on.

Ryan feels so unbelievably off. It’s like someone broke into his apartment and moved all of the furniture an inch to the left. He pushes the heels of his palms against his eyes and sits up.

The second his blurry vision focuses, he sees Shane. A smile involuntarily blossoms across his face.

“Hey big guy. You just gonna stay up all night, or...?”

Shane returns the smile, but it's sadder and more pained than he's ever seen it before. What in the world does Shane have to be sad abou-- _Oh._

_Ooooohhhhhh._

_Fuck._

 

Ryan doesn't pass out again but it's a close thing.

“Shane?”

His boyfriend -- is it his boyfriend? -- hums lightly in response.

“Explain. Now.”

Shane lets out a shaky laugh. “Would you believe me if I said a local costume store was having a two-for-one sale on horns?”

“Shane.”

“The bathroom I stopped in was actually a wizard’s lair and he cursed me?”

“What the fuck? No!”

He shrugs and tries one last ditch effort, “My fursona's a ram?”

Ryan almost wants to laugh at that one, almost wants to just play this off as a huge joke and go back to how things were. He almost lets it slide, knowing he could turn a blind eye and make more excuses. “Shane,” he insists.

Shane sighs and points to the Wal-Mart bags beside him. “Circle me up then, man.”

The salt pours smoothly, and Ryan focuses on how much it would sound like a running stream if he closed his eyes. It’s methodical, soothing, and he doesn't realize he's almost done until he nearly slips on the salt behind him. Taking a deep breath, he connects the two ends.

Shane grunts in discomfort but doesn't otherwise say anything else. Instead, he points to the cloth grocery bag still on the bed. “You’ll probably feel better holding some of those too.”

Ryan opens it gingerly, pulling out a couple bottles at once. He’d gone a little overboard at the time, he'll admit, but after their first ghost hunt, it was hard to sleep without his fingers wrapped around at least one bottle. He’d reached out to as many priests as he could in the following week to bless all kinds of bottles.

His heart flutters a bit when he realizes that Shane had gotten all these somehow, that despite all of this, the man still _so deeply cared_ as to hunt down some semblance of safety.

He suddenly wants to vomit.

Instead, he scoots back on the bed so he’s as far away from Shane as he can be and unscrews one of the lids of the holy water.

Shane takes a slow sip from his cup, waiting for Ryan to signal to continue. Shakily, Ryan nods.

Shane clears his throat and crosses one knee over the other. “I’m, uh, well.” He shakes his head, then spreads his arms out as widely as he can inside the circle. “Surprise! I’m a demon, baby!”

Ryan automatically snaps back, “Don't call me baby,” before really processing the other man’s words. He mostly just blinks in Shane’s direction, his mind covered by a thick blanket of static. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if this is how computers feel when they Blue Screen.

Shane stands up and walks to the edge of the circle. “Ryan?”

He jumps a little and shakes his head to clear it.

He has a million questions that are dying to all come out at once, so he settles on the most pressing. “How long have you been possessing my friend?”

Shane cocks his head to the side. “I’m not possessed, Ry.”

Ryan grabs the water bottle tighter. “No, that's Shane’s body. You're not Shane. How long?”

He watches as Shane waves a hand over his body, those long, curling horns materializing again. His eyes flash dark, and Ryan can't make out his iris and sclera anymore. Just an inky blackness.

_Like my dream._

“So you're not using my friend as some kind of fucked up meat suit?”

Shane laughs gently, his sharpened teeth flashing in the light of the lamp. Ryan shifts back against the headboard instinctually.

“No,” Shane insists. “I’m the same person you met a few years ago. Well, entity. I’m not actually sure of the finer legal points of my personhood. It’s actually a really interesting ethical debate and-”

“Shane.”

Shane stops rambling.

“Wait, what’s your, uh, real name?”

“Shane Alexander Madej.”

Ryan rubs a hand down his face. Of course Shane as a demon would be insufferable. “No, asshole. Your actual name.”

“If you're asking for the name I was given when I fell, I don't give that out freely. If you're asking what my name was before the whole afterlife gig, I have no idea. I don't remember much. But Shane is what I've been going by for as long as I can remember.”

Ryan nods and picks at the hem of his shirt. He’s playing this awfully cool, but that's probably because the reality of this whole situation hasn't properly set in yet. He's not sure what will happen once it does, so he better use this time wisely.

“Can you like, put your face back on? It’s freaking me out a little, dude.”

Shane looks startled. “Oh, uh. Sure?” He starts to wave his hand back up his body when he’s interrupted.

“Keep the horns. It’s easier to believe this conversation is happening.”

“Of course, Ry.” Shane’s are impossibly delicate, never in a million years what he would expect to hear from a demon.

“Wait, if we slept together, did you like, corrupt my soul? Am I damned?!”

“What? No! Of course not!” Shane grabs the chair behind him and brings it up against the wall of the circle. He sits down and leans forward as far as he can. “Your soul is very much in tact. Contrary to popular belief, we need explicit permission to come in direct contact with a soul.”

Ryan relaxes his hand from where it had been clutching his shirt over his heart. Sure, Shane could be lying about that, about everything, but for some reason Ryan believes him.

Ryan is well-aware that he would be the first to die in a horror movie.

“Okay, uh.” He taps his finger against the exposed adhesive of the bottle, concentrating on the sensation of it pulling and releasing his finger. “How’d you, uh, what’s the word…” He trails off, waving his other hand vaguely.

“Fall?” Shane supplies. When Ryan nods, he shrugs again. “Sold my soul in a crossroads deal.”

Ryan knows that the demon can probably hear the whirling of the gears in his head, but he's finally face to face with one of the creatures he's wanted proof of for so damn long. “What’d you sell it for?”

Shane’s face is completely stoic as he says, “Two cows.”

Ryan loses it. He wants to be angry, wants to be hurt by Shane’s deception. But he’s weak when it comes to Shane, doesn't have the same force fields in place to protect himself from his dry humor and biting sarcasm. Or, he might’ve once, but he took them down months ago.

“Honestly? Is there any reason I could give you that would make it understandable?”

Ryan shakes his head. He can't think of a reason he would sell his soul, but then again, he's put his head down and worked his ass off for pretty much everything he's wanted in life and gotten it in some form.

“Point taken. I’m sure it was something very important.”

The corners of Shane’s eyes crinkle, and Ryan feels his heartbeat echoing against his ribs. He’s terrified of the monster in front of him. _The Shane I fell in love with isn't a monster._

“How old are you?” he asks suddenly.

Shane scratches his stubble while he thinks. “The Gregorian calendar hadn't been invented yet, so it was probably in the late 1300s? That's about the best guess I've got.”

“So you _were_ human at some point?”

He makes a wobbling motion with his hand. “Eh, depends on your definition of human, but yes.”

“What was it like?”

He coughs out a laugh. “There were certainly a lot more plagues.”

Ryan is suddenly a lot more exhausted. His body sags against the headboard, and he lets out a heavy sigh. One foot after the other, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and plants them firmly on the floor. He steadily approaches the salt circle before pausing inches away from Shane.

“Are you gonna hurt me?”

Shane recoils. “Of course not! Fuckin’ hell, Ryan, no, never. I would never do anything to intentionally harm you. I swear.”

He studies Shane’s face carefully. It's still the same shape, still curiously soft despite the angles. His nose is casting a bit of his face into shadow, but Ryan doesn't find it at all menacing. Despite the reddish-black horns spiraling out from the top of his head, it's hard to tell that anything about him has changed. Ryan doesn't suddenly see malice hiding behind his eyes, doesn't see unholiness seeping from every pore.

“Can I touch them?” he asks, his fingers hovering by one of Shane’s horns.

“Uh, sure? Go ahead, buddy.”

They're a lot rougher than he'd assumed they'd be. There's ridges along them, much like one of those rams that walk along the sides of cliffs, and they're a lot longer looking from the side. He trails his fingers along them, back towards the top of Shane’s head, and then down the demon’s jawline. He savors Shane’s sharp breath at the gentle contact, memorizes the way he leans into the touch. It’s shocking how little things have changed.

After a minute of breathless wonder, he summons a soft voice from deep within his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Shane’s eyes crinkle in amusement again as he huffs, “What, and ruin my aloof brand?” His face grows a bit more somber. “It’s not the easiest news to break.”

Ryan snorts. “Yeah, you can say that again.” He lets his hand fall from Shane’s face and his eyes focus uselessly on the salt getting ground into the carpeting.

“Ryan?” Shane’s voice brings him back to reality. It always does. “I meant it.” The confusion must color his expression pretty obviously because Shane almost immediately clarifies. “Every time I've told you I love you, I’ve meant it.” He inhales, counts to three, and lets it out slowly before continuing. “You make me feel _human_ again. Hell, you make me _feel_ , period. I've lost so many years to apathy. There are decades I can't remember because there isn't anything _to_ remember.

“And then I found you. You made me remember what it feels like to experience life one day at a time, what it means to actually live. I might be damned for eternity, but you make it worthwhile.

“I love you, Ryan Bergara.”

Ryan reaches up to Shane, wrapping his arms tight around his neck. He smells like earth and smoke and the salt that's surrounding them. He smells like comfort, like the last months they've spent together.

“I love you, Shane. Against all better judgement.” He lets go and lowers himself back to his heels. Dragging his foot across the carpet, he breaks the circle. Shane doesn't immediately leave it, so he grabs his hand and pulls him away from it. “I need to think about all this, okay?”

Shane nods. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

He kisses Shane with a quiet passion but doesn't linger. “Today’s, what, Monday?”

Shane checks his phone and slides it back into his jacket. “Technically Tuesday now.”

“I’ll tell you what.” Ryan grabs the edges of his jacket and flaps them idly. “Monday night, meet me at our usual spot at 6:30?”

Shane’s response -- “There's no way in Hell I’d miss it, Ry.” -- melts the last of his icy panic away. Yeah, so Shane might be one of the things he loathes the most, but he's still Shane. He’s still the lanky idiot he fell in love with, the one who likes popcorn and history documentaries and terrible jokes.

He’s still the one in his dreams.

He hands Shane the lukewarm coffee and replies, “It’s a date.”


	10. decem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all i am so wildly sorry for disappearing for so long! bipolar disorder is a real bitch.  
> anyways, here's the next chapter! just a warning, there's discussion of Catholicism in this chapter. It's not meant to condemn any religion, and is mostly used as a plot device... and definitely totally didn't stem at all from growing up Catholic in the South and then turning out to be queer and trans. I'm definitely not projecting. Don't worry about it.  
> anyways!!! thank you all for yor kindness!! hopefully i can get back on this writing train again and finish up the rest of the stoooorryyyyyy!~!  
> as always, kind words are appreciated here or at my [tumblo](https://onesaltydemon.tumblr.com/). ♥

Ryan stares in shock at the now empty circle of salt. He’d dragged his shoe through the line, kissed Shane cautiously, and then watched as the man snapped his fingers and disappeared. If it wasn’t for the bags of anti-demon paraphernalia on the bed and the cold coffee on the table, he isn’t sure he’d be able to believe anything that had just happened.

He strips down to his boxers and crawls into bed.

He’s almost disappointed when he doesn’t dream.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t really remember the flight home, doesn’t remember ordering dinner for one, doesn’t remember falling asleep to the sound of a History Channel documentary they’ve already seen multiple times.

 

* * *

 

Because he’d fallen asleep so early, Ryan finds himself awake hours before his alarm is set to go off. He’s full of the anxious energy that comes from actively ignoring a pressing problem. His shoes are hitting the pavement before he even realizes he’s left the apartment. The measured pat of each step is calming and familiar, and the rhythm helps him think clearly for the first time in almost twenty-four hours. Focusing on his breathing, he takes stock of everything that’s happened to him recently.

He had never expected to start dating Shane, nor to fall in love, and he certainly never thought his boyfriend (and possible soulmate?) would turn out to actually be a creature from Hell. It’s all… a lot, and he hasn’t really let the gravity of the situation sink in.

His run takes him much further from home than he’d planned, so when he finally gets back, he’s rushing to shower and get dressed.

 

* * *

 

He bites his tongue when he almost adds Shane’s usual drink to his coffee order. It stings more than he’d expected, but he survives.

Work is similarly difficult. He struggles to not draw any parallels between Shane’s current absence and his previous disappearance, but at least it helps to now have a reason for both.

He finishes his work far more quickly without the typical distractions sharing a desk with Shane brings.They’ve already recorded several of the True Crime episodes for the upcoming season, so he finishes the final two episodes of Supernatural and starts dropping their other footage from New Orleans into the Axeman voiceover. He submits the cuts without his co-host once again, and he only chokes on the bile in his throat a little.

 

* * *

 

After work, he finds himself driving aimlessly, totally 110% not clearly avoiding going back to their empty apartment. He idly wonders at how bizarre it is that he considers the apartment he’s lived in alone for years to now be _theirs_ after only a few months.

Could he go back to the way things were before Shane?

Would Shane stay at BuzzFeed? In Los Angeles?

If Shane did leave, he’d have to find another co-host or just let the series die alongside his hopes and dreams. Of course it would be a fucking _demon_ that ruined everything.

He can feel the panic rising in his chest while his mind races. Fingers tapping against the stitched leather of the steering wheel, he makes a snap decision: in the distance he can see the peak of the cathedral his family went to when he was a child. Checking the clock on his dashboard, he sees that he’s just in time for evening mass.

_Maybe it’s a sign?_

He parks and hurries inside, ducking into the back-most pew as quietly as possible.

It feels strange to be sitting here after so many years away, but it’s still the same familiar embrace he remembers. He’s not sure why he stopped coming here, but he’d wager the hurt and anger he felt towards God regarding his lack of dreams didn’t help. Plus, with school and internships and work, not to mention trying to maintain a healthy social life, there wasn’t ever much time left over to sit in a musty room with eighty other people going through the motions of performative religious fervor.

Still, he finds himself easily falling back into the rehearsed movements and responses, letting the voices of the other parishioners wash over him. The readings themselves weren’t very notable, but the priest’s short homily caught him off guard.

 

 _The Lord, in the purest sense of the word, is_ **_love._ ** _Despite everything humanity has done, the demons we’ve fought and won, and those to whom we’ve succumbed, the Lord has nothing but unceasing love and grace waiting for us._

_Regardless of how far we may stray, regardless of how many worldly desires we falsely worship, there will always be a place set for us at the table of the Lord._

_As we finish out our week, take stock of your own personal demons. How can we confront them in a way that shows our gratitude to God and His mercies?_

_Amen?_

 

“Amen,” the congregation responds. Ryan tries to join in the following hymns, but can’t find his voice, and when he receives the Holy Eucharist, the wafer sticks in his throat.

 

* * *

 

Thursday passes without fanfare. He has to keep stopping himself from leaning over to whisper jokes to Shane. When he comes back from the bathroom with glassy, red eyes, no one seems to mention it.

 

* * *

 

Because Ryan is nothing if not predictable, he picks up a twelve pack of beer and a shit-ton of candles on his way home. He shotguns three before spreading the lit candles across every open surface in the apartment. The Ouija board seems to welcome him back as he opens the circle, and he frantically calls out to the empty room around him. He flips the bottle cap, and tries not to cry when it rolls off the table without even touching the board.

He frantically closes the circle, grabs a flannel from Shane’s side of the closet, and falls asleep on the previously untouched side of the bed.

 

* * *

 

He’s still pretty out of it on Saturday, but more importantly, he’s lonely as fuck. And sure, maybe it’s against his judgement -- and also against the agreement he’d specifically requested -- but after a few more beers and a sappy Hallmark romcom, he picks up his phone and shoots off a couple of texts.

 

10:22 PM _Do you need to sleep?_

10:22 PM _Or eat?_

 

10:24 PM _Does your brother know you’re a demon?_

 

10:47 PM _Were you in France when that dancing thing happened?_

 

11:33 PM _Do you miss me?_

11:34 PM _I miss you._

 

11:38 PM _Fuck._

 

He falls asleep before he gets a response.

 

* * *

 

 _I don’t need to sleep if I have a chance to visit Hell to recharge_ 1:44 AM

 _Also don’t need to eat but I’m a fan of things that taste good_ 1:45 AM

 _Plus like gluttony is 1 of the 7 deadly sins so lol_ 1:45 AM

 _Technically I don’t have a brother but I’m assuming you mean Scott_ 1:46 AM

 _He’s just another demon who enjoys sticking his nose into other people’s business_ 1:47 AM

 _Ya I was there lol but don’t worry I didn’t cause it_ 1:48 AM

 

 _I miss you too buddy_ 2:01 AM

 

 _See you on Monday_ 3:33 AM

 

* * *

 

Shane should’ve known that Baltaar would eventually find him.

He’s currently buried in a particularly large snowdrift, but the recent windstorm must’ve uncovered the tips of his horns.

“Shanezche?”

He holds his breath and waits for Baltaar to give up and leave. Instead, however, he hears a strange sniffing noise followed by something digging out the snow above his head. _Of course he’d try to bribe me with Umbra._ Grumbling, he sits up and greets the hellhound standing on top of his pile.

“Hey, girl,” he murmurs, dragging his sharpened nails along the edges of her undulating form. “How’s my favorite abomination doing?” She wags her butt happily at his ministrations.

“ _We_ were both worried about you, asshole,” Baltaar answers. “Have you just been in this shitty igloo this whole time? What the fuck are you even doing here?”

Shane narrows his eyes and glares at the other demon. “Nothing,” he grits out.

“So you’re just hiding in a snowdrift for… fun?”

“Yes.”

They stare at each other in stubborn silence before Baltaar sighs and sits near Shane’s snow-covered form. Umbra sniffs at his hands in search of some leftover gristle before giving up and returning to Shane for more attention.

“Is it the human, then?” Baltaar finally asks.

Shane grunts in response.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes. What happened? Trouble in paradise?”

Shane scoops up some of the snow and packs it tightly into his hand. “Ryan knows.” He breaks the ball apart before running his hand down Umbra’s spines. She rumbles happily in response.

Baltaar doesn’t immediately shoot back with some deprecating remark, so Shane hazards a glance up at this friend. He knows he shouldn’t be allowing a human, a _mortal,_ to have this much power over him, but the longer he’s away from Ryan, the less he finds he cares.

A heavy hand pats his shoulder. “You know the council is gonna find out.”

He leans into the touch. “I know.”

Another pregnant pause falls over them while they consider the circumstances. Baltaar tugs Shane’s shoulder, turning them both so they’re face-to-face. “Shane, if he’s this important to you… I’m on board. We’ll get this figured out together, okay?”

Shane smiles and feels his Hellfire slowly start to spark back to life. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

After taking some painkillers and kicking himself for the entirety of yesterday’s stupidity, Ryan heads in to Sunday mass.

There’s a different priest running mass today and considerably more people in the pews. He’s relieved when an elderly lady in the back row slides over to give him a place to sit down.

Something about this service is entirely opposite of Wednesday's. Every reading seems to be about rebuking the wicked lest you let yourself become wicked too. It makes Ryan’s stomach churn uneasily.

When the priest stands for his homily, Ryan can feel the energy of the room sour. The moment the priest opens up his binder of sermon notes, he knows he’s going to hate every word that comes out of this wrinkly old prune’s mouth.

Thinking back on his childhood, he can only recall a very few number of times the priests ever openly condemned any specific thing during a mass. The message of the church had always been one of peace and forgiveness, and as a young boy, he had desperately clutched those ideas close to his heart.

The words that this man speaks are not that.

He doesn’t even process the bulk of the homily, instead focusing on the unbridled rage simmering up in the back of his mouth.

 _God doesn’t give one single shit about who I decide to love, and if He_ does, _I understand why so many folks happily choose Hell instead. I get why Shane would sell his soul._

When the woman next to him grabs one of his trembling hands and asks him if he’s alright, he excuses himself and all but sprints out the door, not once looking back.

 

* * *

 

2:51 PM _Still on for tomorrow?_

 _Wouldn’t miss it, little guy._ 2:55 PM

 

* * *

 

Work is excruciatingly slow, and Ryan finds himself watching the clock more than actually doing any work. The second the workday is over, he’s rushing towards the parking lot. He finds a spot near the restaurant, which is unheard of at this time of day, and he’s so preoccupied with feeding the meter that he makes it to the hostess stand before realizing that he hasn’t actually decided what he’s going to tell Shane.

Before he can respond to the hostess’s questions, he sees him.

There he is, leaning against a tall table near the bar, wearing a nice button-down and a _bowtie_ of all things, and Ryan’s autopilot kicks in. Shane looks so fucking _good,_ and every fibre of Ryan’s body is being pulled in closer. His heart is pounding, the vibrations reverberating through his chest like bat wings in a haunted castle, and his mouth is impossibly dry.

And then Shane looks up and smiles, and Ryan can’t for the life of him remember why he’d needed a week to think about anything. Demon or not, this ridiculously beautiful man in front of him very clearly adores him. He can knock the wind out of him with a single wink. He understands the way he thinks and lives and _loves._

Shane’s voice is full of breathy amazement when he finally speaks around his smile. “Hi.”

Ryan feels his face mirror that goofy grin, and in a similarly breathless voice responds, “Hi.”


	11. ūndecim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! sorry for the delay!  
> i hope you all are having a marvelous week and that the weekend brings you lots of happiness! maybe you'll even get to pet a very good animal or hug a very nice person!  
> thank you all for your comments, i've enjoyed being able to hear from y'all so very very much! it warms my heart more than you can possibly know.  
> as always, feel free to leave me a message or drop by my [tumbloid](https://onesaltydemon.tumblr.com/) any time!  
> ♥♥♥

Shane thinks maybe he should be less euphoric about seeing a human, but… he honestly can't help it. He's spent the last twenty minutes nursing an old-fashioned while wearing this stupid fucking bowtie Baltaar had insisted he wear. Until he actually saw Ryan enter, he was convinced he wasn't going to show up. For once in his miserably long life, he’s glad to be wrong.

Once they've stared at each other for entirely too long, Shane clears his throat and takes a sip of his drink. He tries to focus on the burn of the whiskey, but he can still taste the sharp keylime of Ryan’s emotions.

“I’m… really glad you came,” he finally says.

Ryan looks almost offended. “I told you I would.”

“I know you did, Ry.” He smiles softly before explaining, “It’s just after this whole-” he makes a vague horn-shaped motion with his hand, “-thing, I wouldn’t have blamed you for changing your name and skipping town.”

Licking his lips, Ryan tries to find his words. “Do you wanna sit down somewhere?”

Shane nods, picks up his drink, and follows Ryan to the hostesses’ stand.

* * *

The next few months are wonderful. Ryan forgets about New Orleans most of the time, and Shane doesn’t really blame him. Most days, Shane himself nearly forgets, too, settling back into their shared apartment like he’d never even left.

Baltaar visits them a few times, mostly to bother Shane since he hasn’t been making as many trips to Hell, but also because he seems genuinely interested in getting to know the man who “corrupted” his best friend. Umbra tags along too on occasion, but Ryan still seems justifiably terrified of her.

* * *

They go on a road trip just because they can in July, happy to have time away from the office. They make a weak excuse about scouting out new Unsolved destinations to avoid questions, but no one seems to care enough to call them out on their bullshit.

They have a week full of laughter and shitty jokes, of drinking beer and watching drive-in movies. They have a week just to bask in the anticipation of young love and hot sex.

It’s nice to see each other away from the stress of work. Obviously they both love their jobs, but with the nature of producing online content, it’s hard not to feel the anxiety of constant deadlines and public reception.

Ryan has his head on Shane’s chest and is listening to the soft flickering of the flames. It had been really unsettling when he realized what the noise actually _was,_ but now it’s just another thing he adores about his boyfriend. He idly wonders if he should’ve made a bigger deal about Shane’s true identity, if he should’ve done the smart thing and left as soon as possible. Then again, he’s never claimed to be a smart man.

They’re in some random field in Idaho -- he’s not actually sure if they’re trespassing or not -- watching the stars. It’s calm, the kind of deep peace he’s been searching so desperately for. Shane is tracing shapes on his back, and judging by the familiar pattern of the lines, he guesses they’re most likely sigils of some sort.

After they’d thoroughly discussed what happened in New Orleans, Shane had immediately let Ryan see more and more of his personal life. Shane loves absentmindedly sketching glyphs and wards onto everything. Sharp lines of protection cover most of Ryan’s belongings, soft swirls of comfort adorn most surfaces in their apartment.

There’s been a bit of a culture shock, he won't lie. Shane has been sleeping in their shared bed more often than not. The nightmares have been replaced with memories of Shane and sometimes what he can only assume is a peek into their future.

Which reminds Ryan that he still hasn’t asked Shane if demons can even have soulmates. He isn’t sure he’s emotionally prepared to handle the truth.

Instead, he scoots in closer and breathes in the summer air.

* * *

Shane can’t remember the last time he was this ecstatic to be aware of every minute that passes. This summer has filled him with more hope than he’d ever dared to imagine.

Before Ryan, Shane wondered if the crossroads deal would eventually be worth it, if one person could ever be worth eternal damnation. It’s not even that Hell is a bad place so much as once he’d served out his sentence, he realized that this really was forever.

He tried to meld back into society as soon as he was given an inch of freedom, but after the third or fourth try, he decided that the real torture of damnation is having to watch everyone you care about grow old and die without being able to stop it.

So he retreated for a long time. He spent at least a decade staring down the bottom of the whiskey bottle, purposefully ignorant of every moment that ticked by.

Funny how a second of heartbreak stretched into an eternity.

After Baltaar finally pulled him out of his drunken stupor, he decided to simply catalogue the chaos that the humans created. It was easier to forget the vastness of infinity when he was living from event to event, change and disorder constantly surrounding him.

In his travels, he’d experienced so much death but also so much life. Yes, he was on a lot of the front lines of war, but he’d also seen the births of both children and ideas, heard the cries of revolution and of victory, felt the warmth of the sun after a winter of constant famine and bloodshed.

His chronicling lended itself to learning, to understanding the human condition, and, ultimately, to becoming a high-ranking officer in the army of Hell. It was rumored that he could get any human to agree to any deal, and due to his observations of numerous cultures’ methods of warfare, could win just about any fight.

But honestly, he only kept picking fights because the nails raking across his back and the horns piercing his gut reminded him of what it was like to _feel_ again. So he threw himself into more and more skirmishes and found himself improving. It was only a matter of time before he climbed as high as he possibly could.

After a while, he was tired of the constant posturing and threats, and given his standing, decided it was time to reconnect with humanity again… through controlled chaos. He joyfully travelled the world, a crooked grin and a challenging riddle always in hand.

Then the internet happened, along with the trend of filming pranks. He loved every meme he came across, every terribly written horror story. He spent as much time soaking in the 21st century as he could.

Until, finally, he found BuzzFeed’s job application and with a very miniscule amount of his… shall we say… _devilish charm,_ was hired.

 

And oh, Shane would happily spend a thousand more eternities waiting if it meant that Ryan Steven Bergara is waiting at the end of them.

* * *

The end of August brings with it another off-site episode of True Crime to film. Ryan decides to drag Shane up to Keddie Cabin, and neither of them are particularly stoked about it. Shane can feel all the hairs on his neck standing up the second they pass the city limit sign. He can tell that Ryan feels it too, if his blanched knuckles are anything to go by.

They park near the demolished cabin, and Shane watches Ryan mentally psyche himself up. Reaching out a hand, he gently rubs his boyfriend’s knee.

“Hey, we don’t have to do this, y’know? I can just shoot a bit of the cabins, and we can get the hell out of this shithole.”

Ryan sighs through his nose. “As tempting as that sounds, we do already have the camera crew waiting, and it would be suspicious if only you were in the footage. Can’t have the Shaniacs thinking they’ve won.” He smirks before resting his hand atop Shane’s. They sit in silence before Ryan seems to remember why they’re here. “Let’s just get this over with, okay?”

 

There’s a lot more blood than Shane was expecting. Granted, he knows that relatively speaking, this case is still fairly recent, unlike most of the other locations they’ve visited. Still… it’s really a _lot_ of blood. Like. Fuck.

Ryan is walking ahead of him, pointing out significant landmarks and commenting on the oppressive gloom hanging about. He’s currently making a beeline towards the woman cowering in the middle of the wide expanse of muddied red.

Before he can think better of it, Shane grabs the back of Ryan’s jacket. The least he can do is stop him from walking over a restless spirit. Unfortunately, he realizes that they haven’t reached this conversation yet. Ryan hasn’t asked, so Shane never had a smooth way to bring it up. Now Ryan is staring at him in utter confusion, as is the rest of the crew.

And miracle of miracles, he sees a deer just over Ryan’s shoulder.

“Look! A deer!” He points towards it, gently nudging Ryan away from the ghost.

“We’re standing by the rubble of one of the most gruesome cold cases, and you’re watching the _wildlife?”_

Shane just shrugs and wanders towards the rest of the cabins.

* * *

Something is up with Shane, and Ryan needs to know _right now._ And he would absolutely ask, but given that the crew is not privy to the status of their relationship or Shane’s humanity, he knows that now isn’t really the time or the place.

Shane is avoiding one specific spot, and Ryan can’t see any reason why. He noticed that his boyfriend kept redirecting him as they crisscrossed the campsite, and his eyes were clearly focusing on something just above the ground, but Ryan couldn’t fucking _see_ _anything there._

The second they’re on the road and the cameras are turned off, Ryan points a finger in Shane’s direction.

“You’re gonna tell me why you were acting so weird back there, and you’re gonna tell me now.” He peers over to make sure his boyfriend was listening.

Shane’s face is completely blank as he responds, “Doesn’t it weird you out that the killer could still be here watching us?”

He has a point, but it’s not like Shane to be so easily off-put by one measly human -- unless of course they had a needle full of heroin, but that’s neither here nor there. “Nice try, but I know for a fact that General Madej, one of the most accomplished Knights of Hell, would not be scared off by one sick mortal. What aren’t you telling me?” He sneaks another glance.

Honestly, this is the most pained he’s ever seen the demon, and he’s had to edit all the episodes that he suggested aliens as possible theories.

“Okay, first of all, don’t be mad.”

“That’s a really shitty way to begin any explanation, Shane.”

“Point taken. So, we haven’t really, y’know, discussed it, mostly because I knew you’d be insufferable about it-”

“Hey!”

“- _but,_ yeah, I could see her there in the rubble. I didn’t want you to, uh, walk through her or whatever.”

Ryan slams on the breaks and pulls over to the shoulder. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know how to process the information.

“What the fuck, Shane.” It’s not a question.

“I know, we aren’t supposed to lie to each other or keep secrets, I know. But listen,” he raises his hand when Ryan starts to interject, “you need to find the proof for yourself. I know you, Ryan Bergara, and I know that you have never taken anything at face value. Me telling you that ghosts exist isn’t any different than your current beliefs. You created Unsolved to find _proof,_ and I’m not going to let you write off the wind whipping around a shutter as unwavering evidence of the paranormal. I want to see you succeed, but I want it to be authentic. I want the world to see how fucking _right_ you are. And that should be something you accomplish, not me.”

He’s so overwhelmed that when he opens his mouth, the first thing that comes out is, “Hashtag Boogara for life, motherfucker.”

Shane is so clearly caught off guard by his response that he nearly chokes on his own wheezing.

“Seriously though, asshole, you could go a little lighter on the anti-paranormal bullshit.”

Ryan only sees Shane wink before he feels his mouth against his own.

 

Nothing tastes sweeter than licking the laughter off of Shane Madej’s lips. _Nothing._

 


	12. duodēcim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again! sorry once more for the delay! i write everything by hand first and one of my arms has been numb for most of the week so i wasn't able to type it up ;o;  
> however, i've got the outline for the next chapter ready!!  
> please accept [this picture](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/400561700484546563/465779576333926400/20180709_004834.jpg) of my edit **purr** -in-chief as a token of my sincerest apologies.  
> as always, [come say hello](https://onesaltydemon.tumblr.com/) or leave me a comment! i love each and every one of you!!!!  
> have a good week!!! ♥♥♥♥♥  
> edit: now with 357% less typos

Shane knows something’s up when he notices three missed calls from Baltaar. For reference, Baltaar has some piece of shit flip phone that’s currently being held together with duct tape and spite; he never really caught up with the latest wave of technology, so if there’s a reason for him to use it instead of visiting, Shane knows it’s serious.

Ryan’s stopped for gas, so Shane sends a quick _brb_ text and snaps down to Hell. Baltaar is pacing along the frozen riverbank while Umbra whines at him in confusion.

“You rang?” Shane asks, only savoring his friend’s momentary surprise out of habit. “I know you still believe Thomas Edison was a witch, so it better be big.”

Baltaar throws a glance over both shoulders and lowers his voice. “They know about Ryan.”

At first Shane almost laughs. Who the fuck _cares_ if the Council knows about Ryan? But Baltaar is fidgeting with the silver coin they trade back and forth for favors. They haven’t needed it since 1928, which must mean…

“They’re gonna know that I haven’t marked his soul. Is that what this is about?”

Baltaar nods. “You’re gonna need this again before I do.”

“We both know it doesn’t work like that.”

He shrugs half-heartedly. “It could.” Holding out the coin, he shoves his fingers under Shane’s nose. “Just take it. Consider it an act of penitence.”

Shane wraps his palm around the smooth edges of the coin and tries not to feel the weight of dread pooling in his stomach.

“Talk to Ryan,” his friend says, “before they get a chance to.”

Shane takes a deep breath and returns to the car, silver nearly burning a hole through his hand and his conscience.

* * *

Ryan wasn’t sure where the fuck Shane was going to go in the middle of nowhere, but when the man suddenly reappears in the car ten minutes later, he can make a pretty educated guess.

“How was the great beyond?” he chides, goading smile in full force.

Shane doesn’t respond, eyes fixed on a large coin in his palm.

“That good, huh?”

His boyfriend doesn’t even so much as laugh humorlessly.

He studies Shane for a moment, trying to decide the best strategy of attack. Shane doesn’t shut down often, so he doesn’t have much experience dealing with this side of him. He gently reaches out and winds his hand as best as he can around the demon’s, awkwardly closing their fists around the metallic form.

“No secrets, remember? You promised. We both promised.” More silence. “Shane, look at me.”

It take a few seconds, but Shane finally looks up.

“What’s going on, big guy? I’m not a mindreader. You gotta let me in on what’s going on in that enormous noggin of yours.”

Shane smiles, but his eyes don’t crinkle. Something must be _really_ wrong. He takes a breath, holds it, and shakily lets it out. “Do you remember back in New Orleans--” Ryan involuntarily tenses. “--No, not that. Remember when you asked me if you’d accidentally sold your soul?”

“Shane, what di--”

Shane interrupts before he can finish the question. “No, you still have your soul. I promise.”

Ryan relaxes, but only slightly. He can’t say he’s exactly thrilled about where this might be headed.

Shane won’t make eye contact with him anymore; that’s never a good sign. “I promise I haven’t, y’know, tainted your soul or whatever. At least, not irrevocably.”

“Ooookay?” Ryan stretches the word out to prolong the inevitable. Has he mentioned that he _really_ isn’t excited to see where this conversation is going? He tightens his grip around Shane’s hand.

“So, there’s this… group of demons who are kinda in charge of Hell? The bureaucratic bullshit part of it anyways. They think they have a lot more power than they actually do, but it’s hard to convince creatures that are millions of years old that there’s something they can’t do.”

“So, Congress?”

That gets a dry chuckle from Shane. “Yes, like Congress, except we didn’t ever get to vote for these assholes.”

“Okay, so some old as fuck demons put themselves in charge. What does that have to do with my soul?”

Shane shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I mean, normally nothing. Like I said, your soul is safe right now. I haven’t corrupted it with my dastardly good looks yet.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“The thing is, the Council knows.”

Ryan can feel his face scrunching up in confusion but he can’t help it. Shane’s a pretty cryptic guy even in day-to-day conversations. This whole ordeal is starting to make his head hurt.

“About us,” Shane finally adds.

“Can humans and demons not… be to together? Doesn’t demonkind thrive on damning us?”

“Well, yes. That’s maybe a bit of an oversimplification, but you’re technically not wrong.”

“Shane, you’re killing me, man. What are we up against here?”

Shane frees his hand from Ryan’s, sets the coin in the cupholder, and turns back to face his boyfriend. “Demons have a system. It’s worked for millennia, stopped a lot of civil wars from destroying our ranks. There’s a process of essentially -- and this is going to sound way worse than it actually is -- branding our mark onto the humans we choose. It’s demeaning, honestly. Humans aren’t property. You aren’t meant to be marked like cattle. You aren’t just here to--” He stops himself, inhaling slowly through his nose.

Despite fearing the answer, Ryan finds himself asking anyways. “Have you, uh, left your mark on me?”

The man frantically shakes his head, eyes wide. “Oh hell no! Ryan, I would absolutely _never_ do anything like that without talking to you first. Fuck, do you really think I’d put you through something like that?”

Ryan’s not sure what he thinks. He has no idea what this branding actually is or what it entails. “Would I get to keep my soul?”

Shane searches his face for something. Ryan’s not sure if he finds what he’s looking for. “Yes, you would keep your soul. In theory.”

“In theory?”

“It’s more… demon and human soulmates don’t just _happen_ , Ry. At least not in all the years I’ve been around.”

Ryan freezes. He’d suspected, had desperately hoped it was true, but neither of them had dared to be the first to bring it up. “Is that what we are?”

His boyfriend tilts his head to the side. “Is _what_ what we are?”

“Soulmates?”

Rubbing his stubble, Shane barks out an awkward laugh. “I mean, I’ve dreamt about you, and I just kinda… assumed. Obviously there’s all kinds of soulmates: platonic, sexual, romantic, multi-partnered, and just about everything else under the rainbow. I guess I just--”

“No! No, no,” Ryan shouts, causing the demon to jump. “I mean, yes. No-- Yeah, wait. Let me start over.” He leans further across the armrest, staring straight into Shane’s eyes. They’re currently pitch black, but Ryan absentmindedly notes that he isn’t unnerved by them in the slightest. “Shane Alexander Madej--”

“Shanezche,” he interjects.

Ryan blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“My demon name. It’s Shanezche.”

“Shanezche,” he echoes, exploring the way his mouth twists around the name.

“It’s a pretty shitty name. I didn’t tell you before because, in all honesty, I hate it. Plus, anyone can use it to summon me, which is beyond inconvenient at times, so.”

Ryan nods blankly before suddenly remembering what he was in the middle of explaining. “As I was saying: Shanezche,” his veins fill with pure ecstacy when his boyfriend shivers in response, “I have dreamt about you and only you. Yeah, the nightmares fucking sucked at first, but I think that was good ol’ self-preservation at work.” Shane grins sheepishly. “I don’t know how my soulmate is a demon, but truthfully? I don’t give a fuck. I love you, shitty ram horns and all.”

Shane kisses him hard but sweet. It’s a foreign sensation, receiving the physical manifestation of absolute adoration in full force. Ryan might’ve considered himself a believer before, but all of that pales in comparison to the worship of Shane Madej’s lips and the consecration of a rundown rental car.

When they pull back with fire in their lungs and smiles on their faces, Ryan can’t stop himself.

“I want you to do it.”

Shane’s eyebrows knit together, but that devilish smirk doesn’t fade. “Do what?”

“Mark me, brand me, whatever.”

The smile disappears. “Ryan, you don’t understand. You’ll be _mine._ You’ll _belong_ to me.”

For once in his life, Ryan doesn’t weigh the pros and the cons, doesn’t over-analyze every possible outcome. Instead, he laces his fingers through Shane’s and replies, “Don’t I already?”

* * *

Present-Ryan could kick Ryan-on-the-way-home-from-Keddie-Cabin’s ass right now. Sure, he’s a hopeless romantic, he won’t lie. But Ryan “Heart-Eyes” Bergara did not take into account the fact that there might actually be a valid reason demons call the process branding.

He’s learning this lesson very, very well.

Shane’s eyes are as onyx as ever, his sharp teeth on full display. His finger nails are pressing sharply into Ryan’s sternum, a little bit lower than where he’s always assumed his heart was.

The demon clenches his jaw. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

And for just the smallest fraction of a second, he considers it. He considers what Shane has told him about the process, about the possessiveness of its implications, about the physical and emotional side effects.

But he blinks, and he sees.

He sees a man so deeply in love with him, sees the soul-deep terror that Ryan will refuse, sees how even the sweat rolling down his face seems to shine in a way that’s as poetic as it is disgusting. And he sees the reality of everything he’s feared since childhood.

Sure, it’s unconventional and unholy and unexpected, but Ryan wouldn’t trade the past few months for anything in this world or the next.

He fills his lungs with as much of Shane’s scent as he can before very (see: not at all) calmly responding, “Be gentle. It’s my first time.”

Shane kisses his neck once, twice, and shoves glowing nails directly into his soul.

Shane can’t remember the last time he marked a human. If he's done it at all, it was way before he changed his modus operandi and certainly never for such an _intimate_ reason. As he’s navigating Ryan’s soul, he does his best to avoid touching more than he needs to. He just has to leave his mark at the center and get the hell out. No need to do any more damage than that.

But Ryan’s soul is so unfathomably bright. Ideally, Shane never would’ve had to have seen it, could’ve left it unmarred by his aberrant signature.

Exiting his soul is hands-down the most difficult thing he’s ever endured. The radiant beams of his core essence beckon Shane to stay, to take up residence in the unending warmth and love that swaddles him every step of the way.

Outside this space, like an ignored television in a forgotten room, Shane hears a pained groan. He nearly ignores it, instead basking in the eternal sunshine here, but his brain belatedly realizes it’s Ryan’s _body_ making that noise. He’s stayed too long here.

Slowly, carefully, he withdraws his hand. Ryan’s eyes have fluttered shut, so the demon takes this opportunity to slice open his palm, pressing the reddish haze against the glowing marks on Ryan’s chest to seal them.

Ryan’s body slumps into Shane’s arms, and he’s snoring before Shane can safely tuck him into bed.

* * *

Ryan sleeps for a while. He’s not sure for how long, but the sun seems to be setting now, and he can hear a hushed argument coming from the kitchen. Rubbing his sternum, he stiffly shuffles towards the voices. He recognizes Scott’s horns first, the shadow of upward spirals immediately familiar against the blinding kitchen lights. For some reason, Ryan is frustrated with Scott, but he can’t even begin to explain why.

He locks eyes with Shane, who had apparently been in the middle of tearing his not-brother a new one. As Shane’s dagger-sharp finger returns to his side, the frustration fades into relief.

It’s incredibly foreign to feel emotions like this -- just visceral reaction to something that seems far away from his body -- not unlike running your fingers a few millimeters above an old CRTV. It’s not that the emotions weren’t being produced by his body; they just seem to be getting orders from someone else.

Before he can get much closer to the two demons, his knees turn into the traitorous gelatin they are, and he slouches onto the couch.

If his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him, he would swear he sees Shane sway a little as well, but he leans against the counter before Ryan can confirm his theory. His boyfriend looks like he’s aged ten years or maybe just hasn’t slept in a week. Knowing Shane, both are equally likely.

“We’ll talk about this later, Balty,” Shane whispers harshly. Scott -- Balty? -- chews on his bottom lip before holding out a flat palm.

Ryan watches his boyfriend place a single silver coin in Scott’s hand before he snaps his fingers and disappears.

Shane smiles wearily at Ryan. “Coffee or beer?”

Ryan laughs, a strangled sound of love and relief. “Whiskey?”

“I like the way you think, Ry. In fact, I _love_ the way you think.”


	13. trēdecim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kicks down the door* someBODY ONCE TOLD ME  
> hi [i have returned,](http://i.imgur.com/IFzUcAu.jpg) my beautiful friends. I apologize for the delay!! I had to worry about applying to a social work program I really wanna attend in September and also for disability benefits and it's just. been a lot.  
> thank you so so so much for all of the positive feedback -- every single comment and message has considerably brightened my life!! you have no idea how much it all means to me.  
> i haven't beta'd yet, but I figured y'all deserved to finally be able to see the next update!!

Things more or less stay the same after that. Ryan still wakes up next to Shane. He still sits through the HotDaga. He still instantly melts any time Shane so much as makes eye contact. He can’t believe after all these years of waiting, he finally gets _this._ Any day now, he’ll wake up and have to face the fact that it was an elaborate nightmare, he’s sure, but if that’s the case, he’s going to savor every moment while he has the chance.

* * *

Their next destination is a ghost town -- Vulture Mine, if Shane remembers correctly -- and he’s not exactly thrilled about it. Truthfully, he doesn’t think Ryan’s connected the Keddie Cabin reveal with what fifty percent of their show is about. It’s going to be hard to play the skeptic when even Ryan knows he’s lying.

Not to mention that his connection to Ryan’s soul seems to have brought along some interesting… _features._ If he was a betting man -- and due to his hedonism and greed, he absolutely is -- he’d wager quite a pretty penny that it all has to do with being soulmates.

Either way, Shane has the wonderful realization that something about this bond is drastically different halfway through the week. Jen is telling him about some crazy YouTube series she’s been enjoying when suddenly Shane has an intense compulsion to torch the entire office.

Normally that wouldn’t seem too out of the ordinary, but it’s almost time to head home, and he’s sipping a particularly lovely mug of Earl Gray.

His fingers are threatening to crush the ceramic they’re wrapped around, so he abruptly stands up, offers the most bullshit excuse, and races out of the room.

When he nears their shared desk, he’s hit with another overwhelming wave of rage. He’s practically stomping by the time he reaches Ryan.

Speaking of Ryan, he’s currently clenching his jaw and actively restraining himself from ripping out his hair. He slams his fist down on the desk and mutters something that would likely be offensive if computers gained sapience, but Shane wasn’t too worried about the actual words themselves.

And suddenly, Shane understands that the anger wasn’t directed at Jen, wasn’t even _his._ He mentally composes himself before reaching out with a gentle touch. “Hey, little guy. Rough day?”

Ryan huffs with contempt. “That doesn’t even begin to cover it. Fuckin’ computer just lost three days worth of work. I must’ve saved that fucking file a thousand fucking times, and now it’s just… _gone!_ I just…”

Shane takes a sip of his tea and attempts to be as chill as physically possible. Considering he’s Shane Madej, it’s pretty damn chill.

“I just…” Ryan repeats, shoulders beginning to relax. “I just got really mad?” he finishes, no malice remaining in his voice. Tilting his head, he studies Shane whose lips are still pressed firmly against the mug and lowers his voice. “Did you just diffuse me like a goddamn bomb?”

The demon shrugs.

“How did you do that? How’d you know that’d work?”

Shane shrugs again. “Just thought I’d give it a try before you had an aneurysm.” He takes another sip before sitting down and scooting over to Ryan. “Slide over, dude. I have an idea.”

For a second, it almost looks like Ryan’s going to have another meltdown, but instead he slowly wheels to the side. “Yeah, okay. Guess you can’t fuck it up any more than I did, right?”

Shane laughs. “That’s the spirit, Ry.”

* * *

They’re in the car, driving through the middle of fucking nowhere. Shane is desperately attempting to ignore Ryan’s terror gnawing through his own stomach lining. So far, he’s been severely unsuccessful.

“You _do_ remember that I can feel that too, right?” He rubs his stomach absentmindedly. “Literally.”

Ryan throws a quick scowl in his direction. “Forgive me for not skipping into this blowing bubbles and shooting rainbows out my ass. It’s a little nerve-wracking, dude.”

Shane puts his hand on his knee and lightly presses down. “I know, man. But I’ve got you. I swear that nothing will hurt you as long as I’m here.”

Ryan’s fingers slacken just slightly on the steering wheel. “I know. I just… This is our first supernatural investigation since-” he halfheartedly flaps his hand in a circle, “-well, everything.”

“We were able to do True Crime without raising any suspicion on either counts. We’ll be okay.”

The sharp anise flavor dissolves into a subdued cinnamon sugar, and Ryan smiles brightly at his boyfriend.

* * *

Admittedly, things weren’t going as effortlessly as Shane had hoped. Bugs are flying into his mouth, nose, and ears, and they’ve already been rained on twice.

“All I’m saying is, if you wanna dance with the devil, you gotta deal with it when he sets you on fire!”

Shane freezes, his tongue seemingly stuck in the back of his throat. He can see the panic flash in Ryan’s eyes when he realizes what he’s said.

“Okaayy,” Shane drawls. He’s gotta think of something, fucking _anything,_ so they don’t have to completely scrap this scene on the editing floor. “You gonna… get that embroidered on a pillow?”

And just like that, Ryan’s wheezing, relieved that Shane hasn’t called him out. “No, I just…”

Shane’s answering grin reaches his eyes in milliseconds.

* * *

Look, Shane has seen a lot of horrifying things throughout his tenure in Hell, he really has. War is full of vile people committing unmentionable atrocities. Still, he _really_ should start paying closer attention to the cause of death at some of these places.

Bile rises in the back of his throat the second he sees the poor son of a bitch who died here. Shane makes a mental note not to eat anything made with ground beef for a while. Luckily for him -- or unluckily for their show -- the sorry, mangled mess of the man wasn’t too active, mostly just preferring to moan and writhe on the dirty floor.

Okay, it was disturbing as fuck and _incredibly_ distracting, but at least this ghost wasn’t trying to get his spectral hands on Ryan.

Ryan tells the camera some background about the building, frantically passing his flashlight across the large, open space. Something behind them cracks, and the sudden spike of Ryan’s fear slams into Shane’s stomach like a ton of bricks. They whirl around to face the source of the noise.

“Did you hear that?” Ryan reflexively asks. He lets out the smallest sigh of relief when Shane nods. “Should we go see what it was?”

Shane hears the unspoken _Is it safe?_ He squints, attempting to make out the murky shadows just beyond his flashlight’s reach. “Yeah, come on.”

As they’re walking towards the sound, Shane carefully steers his boyfriend away from Ye Olde Hamburger Helper and puts himself between the two.

Ryan’s about to ask what he’s doing, eyebrows arched in a silent question before he connects the dots. His eyes widen as he murmurs as quietly as possible, “Was that…?”

“Yep,” he replies, popping the final consonant and moving some of the debris out of the way with his foot.

“Was it the guy who…?”

“Uh-huh.”

He shifts his grip on his flashlight so he can maneuver it more easily. “Was he all…?”

“Oh yeah, buddy. Grade A and grass-fed.”

“Shit.” He starts helping Shane move the scrap. “Sorry you had to see that.”

Shane lifts a shoulder lackadaisically and is about to declare their search fruitless when he hears a rustling. A little rat scurries near the baseboards. “Ryan, look! Little guy just wanted some gold!”

“The metal or the cheese?”

Shane tries to contain the pun. Really. “Either/or(e).”

Ryan levels a particularly potent side-eye his way before leading them to the next location.

* * *

“I’m not even gonna say anything because, at a certain point, it’s just sad,” the demon comments from the far side of the room.

He’s attempting to remain as stoic as usual due to the town sheriff standing right behind Ryan, summoning up the energy to be tactile.

“Maybe they can’t understand our accents.”

Shane is about three seconds from exorcising this motherfucker out of existence. The sheriff’s outline is starting to warp the shadows behind Ryan, his hands getting increasingly closer to the human’s throat. Before the spirit can strike, Shane blinks, eyes shifting but still imperceptible through the night vision cameras.

He makes eye contact with the spirit as he uses the most ludicrous old-timey accent he can possibly muster. Ryan laughs, the brightness of his aura repelling the creeping shadows back out of arm’s reach. If Shane flashes razor sharp canines to rub it in, the footage sure doesn’t survive the export to their hard drive.

* * *

The tree is mostly just a tree. Whether or not people were actually hanged there for their crimes, Shane isn’t sure. The place seems to be clear of any entities, evil or otherwise, that typically resides here. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Shane scowls into the darkness every time the camera quits rolling.

* * *

Their second to last stop is the school house, and Ryan is legitimately worried that he might vomit just thinking about what could be lurking inside.

Shane strides through the door like he owns the place -- Ryan makes a mental note to ask Shane about supernaturally procuring real estate -- and breaks into a lazy grin when he finds the graffiti.

“I ♥ ghost kids?”

He starts to giggle at the absurdity when he notices Shane’s million mile stare. Shooting a glance back at the crew, he double-checks that they haven’t realized the sudden change in demeanor. It’s impulsive and reckless, and not at all something he ever imagined suggesting, but the words tumbled from his lips, the icy tendrils of fear imprisoning his heart.

“We should turn off our flashlights now, yeah?”

This seems to bring Shane back to the present. “This is an improvement,” that shit-eating grin has taken over the demon’s face, “killing your light without complaining?”

“Shut up, asshole.”

Just before he presses the switch, Shane mouths _Thanks._

 _Anytime,_ he mouths back.

* * *

Shane didn’t mean to stop paying attention to the physical world, honest. But after having to watch the unfortunate aftermath of the grinding incident slither pitifully across the floor earlier, he wasn’t emotionally prepared to deal with an entire classroom of children looking up at him expectantly.

Nope. Nada. No. Not happening. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

He’s intensely relieved that Ryan helps him refocus. The kids are now staring in awe of Ryan, and for once Shane doesn’t feel the uncontrollable need to protect him. He can’t say he blames them for being distracted by the supernatural warmth.

The boys turn off their lights.

Shane hears some rocks go scattering across the floor. When he glances to the side and allows his eyes to adjust, he notices the shape of a little boy playfully tossing them. It catches him off-guard to be overwhelmed by the kids’ intense loneliness.

Damn, Shane really fucking wishes they hadn’t come here. He’s brainstorming ways to convince Ryan to wrap it up when the closet door starts slowly creaking open.

* * *

“Holy shit,” Ryan whispers, voice straining from the panic seizing his throat. “Shane, that door is moving.”

He _knows_ something is in this room. The door is freaking him out, but the sudden blur of bats bursting from the second closet was almost enough to make Ryan shit his pants.

When the crew starts to move the equipment to the last building, he watches the devastation cloud Shane’s face but decides not to ask.

The rest of the shoot goes fine -- other than the surplus of goddamn _bats_ \-- but he can’t shake the discomfort radiating off his boyfriend.

“Hey, Teej!” Ryan calls, putting an arm out to momentarily stop Shane. “I just remembered that I left something back at the schoolhouse. You go on back to the hotel. We’ll meet you there.”

TJ just shoots them a thumbs up and catches back up to the crew.

“Really? You? Forget something?” Shane huffs out a sarcastic laugh. “What’s this actually about, Ry?”

“They made you sad.”

The demon either really isn’t following Ryan’s train of thought or he just doesn’t want to. “Who? The crew? Nah, never.”

He sighs, dragging him in the opposite direction. “I know they were there. You had that distinct brooding face you get when you’re ruminating on whatever emotional baggage being alive for centuries produces.”

Shane’s quiet until they get back to the schoolhouse. He starts to say something, decides better, and reaches for what’s left of the old door. He stops suddenly and turns around. “I wasn’t brooding. I don't brood. I’m not a brooder.”

“Right,” Ryan replies, rolling his eyes. “Come on, big guy.”

Shane’s mouth sets into a grim line as he heads back into the room. Crouching closer to the ground, his eyes flicker back to black but somehow still seem softer than usual.

“Hey,” he starts, doing little more than gently hanging the word in the air. “I’m Shane. What’s your name?”

Ryan thinks he’s going to faint. This has to be an elaborate prank. There’s no way any of this is happening.

“Benjamin, huh? Nice name. I’m pretty sure it means _son of strength._ Didjya know that?” Shane pauses, clearly listening for a response. Ryan still can’t tell if Shane doesn’t know when to quit. “Oh! That’s Ryan. He’s my… _partner_.” Shane turns to him earnestly.

“Uh, hi… Benjamin?” What the fuck, right? The worst thing that could happen is getting laughed at for a few days -- he adamantly ignores Father Thomas’s voice in the back of his head contradicting him -- and that was more palatable than potentially ignoring a dead kid.

There’s no response, at least not one _he_ can hear.

“Nah, he can’t see you either, buddy.” He glances back up to Ryan, clearly contemplating something. "Yeah, I’ll tell him.” Shane motions for him to squat next to him.

“Shane, what-”

“Shhh,” his boyfriend demands. “Ry, Benjamin wants to show you something, but he said that we can’t use any of our ‘buzzing boxes,’ okay?”

Despite himself, Ryan raises his hands defensively in the general direction of Shane’s attention. “No buzzing boxes, Benjamin. I swear.”

Shane mirrors the action, then flips his hands over, gesturing for Ryan to grab one. “Alright, Benjamin. Can you hold my hand?” His fingers wrap around something too precisely for it to be thin air.

 _This isn’t a prank,_ he thinks, anxiety rattling through his chest. No, not anxiety. It was more the crushing awareness that he’s about to witness actual _proof,_ something _tangible_ other than Shane that the supernatural exists. He doesn’t hyperventilate, but it’s a close thing.

“Good job, buddy. Can you hold Ryan’s too?”

Ryan extends his arm toward Shane’s other hand. He waits but doesn’t feel anything, and he’s just about to call Shane out on his bullshit because honestly this is all stupid and, really, how idiotic did Shane think he--

“Good. Now squeeze as hard as you can. Use my hand to ground yourself like you did with the rocks, remember?”

The room is silent save for the occasional flutter of wings down the hall.

Seriously, his foot is starting to cramp from his hunched posture, and it’s getting super late, plus the crew is definitely long gone by now. He had only wanted to help wipe that distraught frown off his face and-

Something squeezes his empty hand. It’s light, and he nearly writes it off as a coincidence, but the more he focuses on it, the more he can make out the five child-sized fingers wrapped around his own. Flexing his fingers, he tests the corporality of the soft pressure. They bend around a cold, invisible mass.

Ryan can’t breathe.

“You’re doing great, Benjamin! I’m very impressed. I knew the second I saw you that you were a tough guy” Shane's eyes are crinkled around the edges in a way that makes his heart flutter.

For all of Shane’s posturing, his insistence that he’s an irredeemable monster, he is one of the most gentle people Ryan’s ever met.

He feels the tiny hand grip even tighter. He senses that he should probably say something soon. “Your hands are cold. Can I get you some mittens? I think I have some in my car. If you want, I can run back and get them if you…” He trails off when he hears the faint, youthful laughter.

This can’t be happening.

Shane also applies more calming pressure, his wrinkled forehead telegraphing his worry. Ryan swallows and nods reassuringly.

“Well, it was awfully nice to meet you, Benjamin. Thank you for spending so much time with us.”

Ryan feels his face relax into a comfortable smile when Shane leans forward to hug the kid. It sends a slight pang to his core, a seemingly uncalled for -- but not unwelcome -- parental desire to see Shane tending to a child of their own.

They both stand and wave goodbye. Ryan makes sure to wave to the entire room so any other kids who may be present wouldn’t feel left out.

The second they’re out of the building, Shane heaves a huge sigh. “Fuckin’ hell, that was one of the most stressful things I’ve ever done.” He scrubs his hard down his face, looking far more exhausted than Ryan expected him to.

“He was only a kid, Shane.”

The demon rolls his eye. “My point exactly.”

As Ryan watches Shane begin the hike back to their car, he remembers the earlier paternal instinct, the desire to provide all the love and support a child could ever want. He shakes his head, laughing to himself.

_Maybe we should just start with a dog._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here](https://i.imgur.com/EVaEayr.jpg) is a very good fanart i did for my own fic i hope you enjoy my incredible art skills


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